


I found You

by nerdlife4eva



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Hunk plays bass, Keith plays guitar, Lance sings his ass off, M/M, Mild Angst, Pidge plays drums, Rockstar AU, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Sheith Prompt Party 2018, Shiro owns a bar, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlife4eva/pseuds/nerdlife4eva
Summary: Shiro inherits his grandfather's bar at the age of 22 and has absolutely no idea what he is doing.Matt Holt has a brilliant plan - although it is going to take some help and a lot of trust on Shiro's part.AKA: The AU where Pidge, Keith, Hunk, and Lance are in a band and helping Shiro save his bar leads them to places they never imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this story was "Rockstar AU" and since I am never very good at following trends, I tackled it in my own way. I hope whoever the requester was likes my version!! This is one of three prompts I have for the [Sheith Prompt Party](https://sheithpromptparty.tumblr.com) on Tumblr! If you like this, please check at the end for links to my other Sheith stories :) 
> 
> If you like it and want to talk Voltron please come find me on Tumblr or Twitter!  
> [NeRdLife4Eva Twitter](https://twitter.com/NeRdLife4Eva)  
> [n3rdlif343va Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/n3rdlif343va)

Wednesdays were for inventory.

It wasn’t knowledge that Shiro inherently had, but the piece of paper in his hand, a carefully hand-written set of instructions and schedules, told him what he should be doing.

His grandfather had never put much stock into computers. The old tills of the bar still rang with the traditional sound of a cash drawer and the accounting ledgers still smelled deeply of the dust that Shiro remembered from his childhood. Even order forms were processed by pen and paper, called in to the distributors each week on Thursday morning like clockwork. Thursday was for ordering, Friday was for deliveries. Every day had a purpose, even if Shiro was floundering to find his own.

Standing behind the dark wood bar, Shiro idly cleaned another glass, eyes quietly surveying the empty room around him. Hours would pass with only the sounds Shiro made himself filling the room, the same as they did every day until the after-work regulars filtered in. Once he had considered filling the void with the sound of the old-time jukebox, but now even it stood stoically noiseless in its place against the wall.

Silence had once been Shiro’s enemy, giving him too much of an opening to fill it with regret and past nightmares. Now it was a comforting companion, the eye in the storm that Shiro’s life had become.

A year ago Shiro had been honorably discharged, his arm lost in battle and his pride bruised more than he was willing to admit. He had returned here to discover his grandfather’s health failing and had fallen into a rhythm of trying to heal them both. In the end, he was only successful for himself, and only partially on that front.

The day of the funeral had been rainy and dark, fitting for the emotions which buried themselves into the deepest portions of Shiro’s broken heart. His grandfather was all he could remember of his family, both of his parents dying in combat long before Shiro could form active memories of either of them. Standing at the gravesite, alone after friends had disbursed, Shiro felt the loneliness tuck around him like armor. His heart sealed that day, protecting itself from ever experiencing the pain of loss again.

Which left him standing in an empty bar using only the ghost of his grandfather’s words to figure it all out.

At one time, this bar had been the life of the town. Entertainment was in short commodity for a military town in the desert of Arizona and Shiro’s grandfather had relished in the small town feel of the bar. Everyone knew everyone and that’s just how his grandfather had liked it.

Withstanding his bar ( _his_ , Shiro thought, the idea weird and foreign even after six months), the diner down the road and the family-owned movie theater, their small town had expanded quite a bit. There were three Starbucks and two McDonald’s, and rumors were swirling about the building of a Target on the empty lot which had stood vacant on the edge of town for nearly twenty years. In his youth, Shiro had played baseball in that lot, happy to kick up dust and dirt with Matt, and the thought of it being paved over into a parking lot gave him a funny feeling in his chest. He wouldn’t outwardly argue against the development of the store, but he had decided not to openly support it either.

The bang of the front door yanked Shiro out of his thoughts and he tried to smile as Matt sauntered in, tossing his Garrison-issued laptop bag onto the bar and throwing himself onto a stool. “We’re closed,” he teased, twirling the glass in his hand and dropping it to the bar to fill it with two fingers of whiskey anyway.

“Never closed for me,” Matt shot back, snagging the glass as soon as Shiro had pushed it in front of him. “Man, can’t I quit and just come work here? I would be an excellent bartender.”

Snorting, Shiro lifted another glass to rub with his drying rag. “Says the man who once yelled _pour five of anything into this glass and I’ll drink it!_ ” His Matt impression was awful, always had been, and yet succeeded in making Matt laugh. “I couldn’t afford to pay you anyway. All of these restaurants cropping up with their fancy drink specials and happy hour appetizers, I can’t compete with that.”

Slamming his glass dramatically on the bar, Matt gave Shiro a disapproving look. “First, you talk like the oldest 22-year-old man I’ve ever heard. Seriously, sometimes I wonder if your grandfather’s ghost didn’t inhabit your body.” He smirked when Shiro smacked him on the side of the head with his towel. “Second, if you are up for listening to an idea, I might have a good one.”

Tilting his head, Shiro pretended to consider it. “I mean… there is a first time for everything… so shoot.” He ducked backwards to avoid the napkin Matt threw at his face.

“Har, har,” Matt rolled his eyes. “Look this is going to sound out there… but like… what about a dry night? So no alcohol sales, but you could do soda and food,” holding up a hand, Matt stopped Shiro’s protest. “I know, I know, you stopped doing food because the cook quit. I have a solution to that too.”

“Matt, I said, I can’t hire anyone.” Shiro wasn’t about to reveal that the only reason the bar was staying afloat was because his grandfather had owned the building and the land it was on for longer than the town had possessed an official name and because his distributors were all friends of the family. If the business had been anything else than perfectly run before he inherited it, Shiro would have sunk it flat broke within the first week of his ownership.

“I have a way that you won’t have to.” Sliding his empty glass back across the bar, Matt tapped his nose and grinned when Shiro hesitantly refilled his glass. “Look, just hear me out, yeah? My sister and her friends, they have this band. They are making my parents crazy by taking over our garage at every single opportunity. I mean… maybe they aren’t, but those nerds make me crazy.”

“You just called someone else a nerd.” Shiro shook his head as he chuckled.

Matt gave Shiro an annoyed look before continuing. “What if… in exchange for practice space here you know during odd hours when no one is around anyway… and for twenty percent of the entry fee on performance nights… they help you keep this place running?” Matt sipped his second glass of whiskey and watched confusion pull Shiro’s eyebrows together. “Two of them are out of high school, just loitering around and doing who knows what. And Hunk is a wiz in the kitchen. He’s going to culinary school in the fall, but right now, he is just making a mess of his kitchen and driving his own family nuts.”

Hunk was a name Shiro remembered as one of the friends Pidge had run around with for most of her life. The other kid he remembered gave him pause. “Wait, Lance is Pidge’s age, they’re still in high school.” Pidge and Lance were in their junior year if Shiro remembered correctly, although even he knew he couldn’t trust his memory completely.

“They are, and they will be amazing at promoting dry night with a live band, a place where teenagers are welcome to hang out.” Triumphant, Matt leaned back on his stool and downed his second drink. “Look, when we were younger, we had the run of this town, but it’s changing now and they don’t really have a place where they aren’t getting dirty looks or shooed away. The expansion of the Garrison has brought a lot of new people into around and not all of them understand the small town mentality of hanging out.”

The observation was true and Shiro knew it. He had even moved two of his unused benches to the sidewalk in front of his bar to give kids a place to hang with their bottles of soda and youthful cackling. He didn’t mind their ridiculous need to cause harmless trouble. Unfortunately, he also knew he was one of the few who still felt that way. Tapping his fingers on the bar, Shiro contemplated Matt’s smug look. “Who’s the fourth then?” Matt had specifically mentioned two out of high school, but so far Shiro had only heard Hunk’s name.

“Ah, a stray they picked up a couple of years ago. Kind of a loner, his mom is part of the Garrison but she’s some big wig Black Ops type of commander so she isn’t around much. Never talks about his dad.” There was a glint of something in Matt’s eye that made Shiro feel a trickle of curiosity. “Name’s Keith. He’s surly but damn good at just about everything. He fixed mom’s disposal on a whim and built the shelves she had been begging dad to put up for a year. She would adopt him, if he wasn’t as skittish and grumpy as an alley cat.”

Again, Shiro saw the glimmer of something more in Matt’s eye and wondered what he really thought of this incredibly-handy Keith. Lips pursing, Shiro’s mind flicked back to the accounting books spread over the desk crammed into his grandfather’s tiny office. There were probably some logistics he would need to work out with regard to his liquor license, but that red tape was probably not more difficult than wrangling the pensions of his parents and grandfather from the cold, uncaring hands of the Garrison. And if the idea failed, at least soda was cheap and Shiro could say he tried it.

Sighing, he held up his hands in defeat. “Fine, let’s do it. Guess they’ll want to come check out the stage?” Wincing he glanced over at the pathetic wooden platform that hadn’t seen enough love in the last few years.

“Great! Yes! Awesome!” Hopping off the stool, Matt grabbed his bag. “You won’t regret this! We’ll be right back!”

Startled, Shiro didn’t have time to argue before the front door was swinging closed behind his childhood friend. Worry and doubt instantly flooded his mind, asking him what the hell he had just gotten himself into.

His heart, however, whispered that it might be nice to not be so alone anymore.

* * *

 

As far as acoustics were concerned, the Holts’ garage ranked at the lowest possible spot. There were spare parts and wires discarded along tables anchored to all three walls and shelves built to the ceiling which required every one of the Holts to scale conveniently placed ladders to access. At any point in time, there were active monitors and computers running, although Keith never had any idea what they were actually doing.

In the back of the room, Pidge’s drums sat looking shiny and excellently cared for. Hunk’s amp had procured a place of its own in the left corner and Keith’s had been unwillingly mounted in the right one. Lance’s microphone stand moved with him, but generally rested wherever Lance had dropped it last. And Lance dropped it a lot.  

Keith was convinced that not a single car had ever resided within the space intended for exactly that, especially when Pidge’s mom had excitedly showed them the fridge and microwave she had installed “just for band snacks.” Secretly, Keith was convinced that Ms. Holt was tired of teenagers tramping through her house and stealing leftovers, but he never made that assessment out loud.

Despite the crappy acoustics (and the way they agonizingly amplified Lance’s voice when he decided to wail), the Holt garage had become something of a second home for all of them. Lance and Hunk had been invading the Holts’ home for most of their childhood and Keith had been surprised and slightly alarmed by the casual way they moved through Pidge’s house. He liked the Holts and was comfortable in the garage, but he never ventured further than the familiar room. (Well, with a few exceptions, but those were all things he could do to _help_ and Keith liked helping.)

Sitting on his usual spot on top of an overturned bucket, Keith tapped Pidge’s drumsticks against the side partially listening to whatever argument Pidge and Lance had found themselves in. Every day was a new argument and Keith appreciated their consistency even if he could do without the inevitable shouting.

At this side, Hunk strummed the strings of his bass, pausing to make notes on the spiral notebook balanced on his knee. Every so often Hunk would hum, nodding his head when he got to a rhythm he liked. Their little band currently did mostly covers with the exception of their five original songs which had all been carefully crafted by Hunk himself. No one knew that Keith had written the lyrics to each of them and Hunk had sworn to keep his secret. It would be bad for his gruff and tough image for anyone to know that he was capable of expressing feelings.

Leaning closer to hear the notes Hunk was stringing together, Keith jumped when the side door to the garage banged open.

“Hey losers,” Matt called, bag slung over his shoulder and smug smile on his face. Keith took in Matt’s neatly pressed short-sleeve dress shirt tucked into his creased khakis and wondered if Matt actually knew the definition of the name he called them. Smirking when Hunk nudged him with a knowing look, Keith dropped his head to peer at his boots.

“Did you talk to him?” Jumping up from her place on the couch, Pidge threw the pillow from her lap backwards directly into Lance’s face. Ignoring Lance’s annoyed shouts, Pidge raced to her brother. “Did you? What did he say?”

Peering between the curtain of his hair, Keith watched Pidge bounce on her toes while Matt stayed tight lipped. Rolling his eyes, he counted down mentally waiting for Pidge to physically strangle her brother. At six, he saw her eyes narrow and the twitch in her fingers.

Patting his sister on the head, Matt straightened his shoulders. “Alright, alright, calm down, _Katie_.” Using Pidge’s real name was the one surefire way to get her to start swinging and Keith snorted into his fist when she did just that. Matt squawked and threw his hands up to block her advances. “Stop or I’m not going to tell you the good news!”

“Did you say _good_?” This time it was Lance who was stalking toward Matt, his eyes gleaming with hope. Keith exchanged a look with Hunk and felt his side get nudged again. Another eye roll and a nod of his head was his only indication to his best friend that he was also excited by whatever Matt had to say.

“Shiro’s in. I told him I would bring you guys back to discuss logistics. Gotta go now though, bar opens in like an hour and you gotta get out of there by then so as not to distract the only barkeep.” Shrugging, Matt pulled his laptop bag from his shoulder and deposited it on his desk.

Instantly, Pidge was tackling him, hugging him excitedly. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she shouted, squeezing Matt until he pretended to retch. “What the heck are you guys waiting for? Come on!” Marching across the room, Pidge grabbed Keith’s and Hunk’s wrists, yanking them to their feet. “Hunk and Matt go with Lance, I’ll go with Keith.”

“Wait… Keith… bike or truck?” Matt’s eyes narrowed, arms crossing over his chest.

Innocently, Keith reached behind him toward Pidge’s desk and plucked up his helmet. Grabbing Pidge’s green one (a gift Keith had designed himself for her last birthday), he tossed it to her while Matt wildly sputtered. “Come on, little lion,” Keith encouraged, letting Pidge slip underneath his arm. “Last one there buys ice cream after.” Already running out of the door before his sentence was finished, Keith felt the telltale sign of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when Pidge let out a competitive holler.

Throwing his leg over the bike, he waited until Pidge was settled, taking off down the driveway and leaving their friends behind to scramble into the cab of Lance’s truck.

It wasn’t until they were out of the neighborhood that the implication of this idea really hit home in Keith’s stomach. Performing in the garage without an audience was one thing, but performing where people could see them, especially people who hadn’t particularly cared for his existence in high school, made uneasiness rise inside of him.

Hearing Pidge excitedly squeal from her place against his back, Keith gritted his jaw and decided that this wasn’t about him. If it would make the others happy and help Matt’s friend, then Keith would find a way to get through it.

Wrapping his hands tighter around the handlebars of his motorcycle, Keith guided them out of the Garrison neighborhood and toward the center of town.

* * *

 

The rumble of a motorcycle had Shiro glancing up from his place at the bar, the phone tucked under his ear slipping a bit as he made his last call of the day. Wine wasn’t their best seller, but the wine guy his grandfather had used was also retired military and Shiro felt obligated to continue with at least his minimum order every week. If he drank most of it while trying to read Business Owning For Dummies, well than that was his business and his business alone.

Saying his goodbyes, Shiro hung up the phone, whirling around when someone started shouting. Alarmed, he watched Lance vault over the hood of a small blue truck and straight onto the back of a guy he didn’t recognize. Confusion continued to rattle through his brain when he watched Pidge dismount from the back of the unidentified guy’s motorcycle and Matt and Hunk pour out of the other side of Lance’s truck.

Outside on the pavement, Keith stumbled as Lance latched himself over his back. “Cheater!” Lance yelled in his ear, making Keith thrash against the gangly arms wrapped around his neck.

Shooting Pidge a wink, Keith threw himself forward and flipped Lance onto the sidewalk. As a courtesy Keith caught Lance’s head before it became intimately familiar with the concrete. With a calmly raised eyebrow, Keith stared down. “I like fudge ripple. Triple scoop.” He dodged to the side when Lance swung at him again, releasing Lance’s head and jogging down the street.

Wiggling himself free from Hunk who was trying to help him from the ground, Lance jabbed his finger at Keith. “You’re out of the band!” he declared, yelping when Pidge smacked him in the back of the head.

“Yeah, if he is out of the band, who is going to play guitar? You, Mr. I-know-two-chords?” Sticking her tongue out at Lance’s outraged face, Pidge moved toward the doors of the bar. “Come on, let’s not keep Shiro waiting.” Flinging the door open Pidge lead the way into the bar.

From his place on the sidewalk, Keith hesitated. Meeting new people wasn’t high on his list of priorities. First impressions were not his specialty, leaving him worried that if he went in with the rest of his bandmates that he would find a way to ruin everything. Knowing that they were also friendly with whoever Shiro was made Keith feel even more reluctant. Chewing on his bottom lip, he frowned at the ground, head snapping up when Hunk called his name.

Hunk stood holding the door open, an understanding smile on his face. “Come on, dude, Shiro doesn’t bite.” He nodded toward the door, smiling brighter when Keith relented.

Eyebrows in his hairline, Shiro watched as the excitable group barged through the door and abruptly popped his bubble of quiet. Pidge and Matt were already talking in the fast-paced way that only the Holts could converse and he watched as Lance exuberantly nodded along, pointing a finger toward the stage. Behind Lance, Shiro watched Hunk stop at the door, talking to the other guy who seemed to be hiding beyond the bar’s windows. Curiously keeping his gaze on the door, Shiro felt a jolt when Hunk playfully shoved their last band member through the door.

_This has to be Keith_ , Shiro whistled in his mind, suddenly thinking he had a pretty good idea about the twinkle he had seen in Matt’s eye earlier. Lean in all the right ways, Keith gave off a distinctive bad boy vibe with his torn jeans, tight t-shirt, and shaggy black hair. The motorcycle certainly added to the image, leaving Shiro feeling a distinct rise in his overall body temperature. Catching Matt’s eye, Shiro tried to ignore the knowing smile his oldest friend was firing in his direction, instead waving a hand and loudly offering everyone something to drink.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Keith peered around the basic square room, working to maintain his neutral expression. Everything was dark wood and neon bar signs, giving it the perfect feel for a hole-in-the-wall treasure. Flicking his eyes toward the shabby platform parading as a stage, Keith immediately started mentally listing all the ways that he could improve it. With the extra lumbar in his shed, a lot of sanding, and a healthy coat of stain, he could have it ready to be used within a week.

His thoughts had him gravitating toward the stage, other ideas swirling into the mix about rewiring the dilapidated speaker system. A few of the tables were supported by what appeared to be rolled newspapers and Keith figured he could hammer out their unevenness while he was at it. Overall, the place was in decent shape, giving Keith a sense of relief about the job ahead of him.

“Hey, alley cat.”

Spinning on his heel, Keith glared at Matt. “Don’t-” He took one step in the direction of his friends, his words dying a dry death on his tongue.

Behind the bar stood a man with a kind smile whose eyes looked like they were peering directly into Keith’s soul. Attraction zinged through Keith like a livewire, putting him instinctively in defensive mode. Being alone was part of his lifelong plan and he wasn’t going to go all dewy-eyed over a pretty face and some perfect pecs. Striding up to Hunk’s side, Keith rested a hand on the bar, plastering his patented I’m-here-by-force look on his face.

“Hi, I’m Shiro.” Reaching a hand out, Shiro smiled hopefully in Keith’s direction. Remembering what Matt had said about Keith being skittish, Shiro nearly withdrew his hand when it was caught by slender but strong fingers. A handshake shouldn’t be leaving him swooning like a preteen, yet Shiro felt the unmistakable dip of his heart. “And you’re Keith, right?”

Nodding, Keith retracted his hand from Shiro’s hold, telling himself he did not feel the sparks lingering over his palm. “This your place?”

The stupidity of his question had Lance snorting. “Yeah… Keith isn’t much for people… but he plays a killer guitar and he is great with a hammer… you know except when he swings it at people’s heads.” Taking it in stride when Keith punched his arm, Lance shook it off with only a slightly offended look. “But enough about grumpy cat, let’s talk turkey.”

The entire group groaned at Lance’s statement, Pidge making a comment under her breath about their lead singer being a dork which earned her a pinch to the forearm from the man himself. At Shiro’s suggestion, they all took seats at two tables, prepared to hash out their plan.

Forty-five minutes of chaos, comprised of more teasing than Shiro could follow and only about fifteen minutes of actual planning, his heart felt light with the hope that this crazy idea could work. Checking his watch, he nodded toward the front door, sadly informing everyone that his time was up when the first customers began to shuffle in looking to drown their work sorrows in a waterfall of alcohol.

Chairs screeched as they all stood, Keith shuffling a little longer than necessary. He had agreed to do repairs around the bar and without much else to occupy his days, he had an itch to get started sooner than later. If it meant more time around Shiro with his deep laugh and irresistible nerdiness, Keith couldn’t really see that as a negative.

Hesitating only a second, Shiro reached out and grabbed Keith’s shoulder. “Hey…” he said, waiting to see if Keith would shrug him off. When he didn’t, Shiro pressed on. “Since you’re going to be helping me out here, can I… have your number? Then we can… you know… talk directly.” He was incredibly unsmooth and if the snorts from Matt and Pidge were any indication, it was very obvious.

Not wanting to move enough to dislodge Shiro’s hand, Keith eased his phone from the pocket of his jeans. Unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb, he handed to Shiro, mildly regretting the decision when Shiro released him.

Pulling out his own phone, Shiro swiped the screen and handed it to Keith. Only when Keith chuckled did he realize his mistake. Flinching he looked up to see Keith holding up his phone to smile at the wallpaper.

“Power Rangers?” Keith asked, feeling a sense of _oh-my-god-why-are-you-cute_ settle in his heart. Reminding himself that single was his preferred state, Keith shook his head when Shiro blushed with an embarrassed shrug. Typing quickly on the phone, Keith darkened it before handing it back and accepting his own.

“I’ll text you later!” Shiro called, waving his hand and wincing when Matt snickered. He wasn’t that he was attracted to Keith, it was that he was looking forward to some very-needed repairs to his bar. Yes, that’s exactly why he was excited to have Keith around. Not even his brain was convinced by his denial causing Shiro to blush again. Hoping to avoid any unwanted comments, he waved to the rest of the group while moving to take his place behind the bar. Diligently taking orders, Shiro gave his undivided attention to his customers and willed himself to not look at Keith’s number in his phone.

His resistance only lasted thirty minutes, when he finally broke down and went looking for his newest contact. He grinned at the message waiting for him from the self-titled Red Ranger.

_“Black Ranger, really?”_ Smiling, Shiro could almost hear Keith’s voice speaking the words. It was stupid to feel giddy over them making almost an identical stupid joke with their saved numbers, but Shiro couldn’t help it. Life had been so dull over the last year, really the last eighteen months if Shiro was being honest, and somehow he knew that it was all about to change.

Firing back a response to his red ranger, Shiro told himself not to get his hopes up.

Across town, alone in his room, Keith told himself the same thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnndddd I'm back! Due to zine obligations and obligations in other fandoms, I had to take a time out from updating Voltron fics. But now I am back and this fic is updating!
> 
> Note that the chapter count updated to 6 chapters because this fic is officially completed in my comp and I will update each of the chapters as I edit them. (Still no beta, so I am sorry for any errors that remain!) 
> 
> I also updated the rating :)
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this story and all the excitement, romance, and heartache it has in store!!

Lumbar crashed loudly into the bed of Keith’s truck as he tossed it from the inside of the shed. The pile was decreasing quickly from where Keith had kept it stored under a hand-me-down tarp, stacked feet becoming stacked inches in a remarkable short amount of time.

Above his head there were shelves of odds and ends and Keith studied them with quiet scrutiny. The bar’s electrical system around the stage definitely needed to be rewired and updated before it could handle the wattage of their instruments and amps, but from Keith’s cursory observations the rest of the room looked mostly intact. Enough to power the backlit bar and the abundance of neon signs without blowing the place up at least. Grunting, Keith kicked over an egg crate and stepped up to snag several spools of wires and more than enough of various connectors. Whatever work he did, he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t jack Shiro’s electrical bill through the roof.

Tossing his handfuls into the bucket at his feet, Keith whirled to study the shelf of various stains and paints. The dark wood look of the bar would certainly handle any type of accent wall Keith encouraged Shiro to add to it, but he didn’t want to create something that would pull the audience’s eyes away from whoever was performing on stage. His wasn’t naïve enough to think that they would be the only band ever to set foot on it, so he kept himself from contemplating any of the possibilities at a personal level. Snagging several cans and a few colors of spray paint, Keith added them to his load and dumped the entire bucket into the truck next to his tool box and his table saw.

Hands on his hips, Keith let his eyes roam through the shed considering any other possible supplies he might need.

“Look at this stuff, isn’t it neat,” he sung to the silence. His mom’s fond smile and raspy singing voice floated into his mind making him grin.

When he had first started to collect odds and ends from their new town, she had teased him relentlessly about the amount of junk he kept piled in the dingy old shed. “What’s this one for?” she would asked, smirking as she lifted the edge of a bumper with her boot. She had listened to him describe the truck he had seen for sale in town and instead of dissuading his determination to buy it and fix it up, she had written the check for the hunk of metal herself. Keith had never been prouder than the day he was finally able to start it and drive it in a dusty circle around their house.

Melancholy fell over him as the memory of his mom’s laughter on the front porch faded from his mind. She had been gone for almost a year with the promise of at least six more months before he would see her face again. He would turn nineteen in her absence, just like he had turned ten through eighteen without his father.

Slamming the shed door so hard it rattled on its hinges, Keith shoved his spiraling thoughts aside. This was why he needed the project at Shiro’s place. As much as he had made the others spend their ice cream time the night before convincing him that it was Shiro who needed him, he knew there was no denying how much he needed a reason to get away from home. Only Matt had given his words of encouragement with a hint of knowing behind them and Keith had briefly been tempted to kick his bandmate’s brother in the shins just to wipe the smug look off of Matt’s face.

Climbing in the cab of his truck, Keith took a moment to breathe as he turned the key. Even though Shiro had been working, they had spent a remarkable amount of time texting each other over the hours of the night. At first, Keith had used the excuse of wanting pictures of various portions of the bar so he could make notes on what needed repaired, but somewhere around hour two, he could no longer pretend their conversation was only about his impending workload.

There was something about Shiro that made Keith want to trust him and that something had kept him up for most of the remaining hours of the night once Shiro had fallen asleep.

Yet their easy text conversation and Keith’s innate trust in Shiro had no bearing on his ability to function and communicate once he was standing in front of the man. In-person relationships were an extreme difficulty for him, born from always being the new kid at every school for his entire life. There was never a reason to form lasting bonds because his parents always had another new placement, a new mission, and another new house for Keith to never call home.

This place was different though. Despite the fact that his mom had spent a whooping month here with him before whisking off to whatever country she was currently based in, she had bought furniture and put paint on the walls that she had picked out. This place was meant to be called home and even if he spent the rest of his days living in it alone, Keith intended to stay. Especially since he had found a best friend in Hunk and friends in the Holts and Lance. They were more than he ever expected to get in life and then somehow they had also brought him Shiro.

Shiro with his really dorky sense of humor and misspelled sleepy texts that made Keith question the sanity of his mind and heart until sunrise. Most likely he would destroy any of the building blocks they had begun to construct in their new friendship. As soon as Shiro discovered just how awkward Keith really was when he couldn’t edit and think through his words before sending them, he would probably politely decline any further friendship. Shiro didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be mean about it at least.

Shaking the fringe out of his face, Keith yanked the handkerchief from his rearview mirror and tied it around his head. Somehow, he would make it work. He could focus on the repairs and only talk to Shiro when he really needed to, and maybe make up for the silence later by texting him. The band needed him to uphold his end of the deal and he couldn’t let them down. He would find a way to tuck his semi-crush to the back of his heart for the sake of them and concentrate on the job he was supposed to do and not the man he wanted to… _do_.

Mad at himself for his own stupidly lame thoughts, Keith put the truck in drive and headed down the dirt road toward town.

* * *

 

Placing orders while sleep-deprived and overly caffeinated made Shiro absolutely positive that he had no idea what would be delivered to his bar the following afternoon. Thursdays were for ordering, no matter how many hours of sleep he hadn’t gotten and how distracted his mind wanted to be.

Keith was coming today. By himself and without the rowdy distraction of the rest of the band, Keith would be spending the entire day working on repairs around the bar.

With him.

Alone.

Being twenty-two and an honorably discharged veteran and a _goddamn adult_ should preclude Shiro from feeling like a thirteen year old boy about to ask out his first-ever date to a school dance. Except it didn’t and Shiro had definitely been suffering a very familiar case of sweaty palms and anxious wiggles from the moment his eyes had opened that morning.

Shiro liked boring men. Matt had made fun of him for years over both the “dull as white bread without crust” boyfriend Shiro had for the last two years of high school and the “better than a sleeping pill” bore of a boyfriend Shiro had during his first year of enlistment. Something about being with someone who thought an exciting Friday night was reorganizing their sock drawer made Shiro feel safe. Sure there had been a lack of passion in both of those relationships, but Shiro didn’t need passion to be happy.

Not even their breakups had really mattered to him and he had barely sparred a thought beyond “their closet will be so organized” when he had received an invitation to their wedding a month ago. His boring exes were marrying each other and Shiro was very happy for them and their well-manicured nails and matching Burberry raincoats.

Glancing down at his own nails, Shiro grimaced at the stubs and jagged cuticles. Briefly he wondered if Keith would care that he was closer to a toddler with a nail biting obsession than to a hand model. Keith didn’t seem the type to care about such frivolous matters, but really Shiro didn’t know what Keith’s type was. Beyond being ridiculously handsome, accidentally sweet, and dryly funny, at least.

Smiling at the instant recall of their easy banter and even easier brainstorming, Shiro found himself leaning on the bar to gaze out of the front windows. He still had two calls he needed to make, one to the food distributor who would be happy to hear his voice and another to Lance’s family business who would hopefully take pity on him the way Lance promised they would. The McClain’s had the best produce in town and if Shiro was going to fulfill all of Hunk’s requests for ingredients, he was going to need a really generous friends and family discount.

Almost losing himself to the worry that wanted to suck him in, Shiro snapped out of his daze when the rumble of a diesel truck rolled into a parking space in front of his doors. Heart stopping in his chest, Shiro watched as Keith kicked his way out of the cab and dropped onto the ground.

Never had a white tank top, tight jeans and a haphazardly tied handkerchief looked so incredibly enticing. Keith’s dark hair fell around the edges of the red fabric on his head and his hips swayed as he walked in a way that looked almost purposeful. Shiro told himself to be cool as Keith reached for the door handle, while promptly knocking over the barstool closest to his hip.

The clatter of wood on wood made Keith raise his eyebrows as he stepped into the bar. The space seemed brighter than it had the afternoon before and Keith took a moment to take in the light that the raised blinds were letting into the room. In the brightness of the morning sun, Keith could tell that the floor of the bar could also use to be redone as could the bar itself. Adding it to his ever growing list of projects, Keith took several quick steps to arrive at Shiro’s side, rescuing him from the barstool that seemed hellbent on suicide by floor.

“Careful,” he smirked, righting the barstool and then leaning on the bar in a way he hoped looked casual. “Can’t have you losing fights to inanimate objects. Who’s going to be scared of a bar owner who can’t even defeat wood poles?” Shiro’s mockingly offended gasp had Keith holding back his smile.

“I’m not here to scare people,” batting his eyelashes, Shiro made his voice sound higher pitched than it could ever naturally be. “I’m your friendly neighborhood barkeep. Just ignore the metal arm and the facial scar.” He grinned when Keith snorted, loving the way Keith could make an eye roll into an affectionate gesture.

“I like the arm…” Keith said, feeling oddly bold in the midst of the quiet bar. “And the facial scar.” His hand lingered just above Shiro’s metal wrist and Keith’s eyes went wide when realized the words his mouth had allowed to escape.

Trying to change the subject away from his poor attempts at flirting, Keith waved a hand at his truck. “Is there space out back for me to park? I don’t think you want that eyesore or the amount of sawdust that I’ll inevitably produce kicking around the front of your bar.” He withdrew his hand in a way that he hoped was subtle, but his fingers itched to move forward to touch Shiro instead.

_Was Keith flirting with him?_ Shiro’s mind went into overdrive with the possibility and instantly rendered his tongue useless. Pointing uselessly toward the back half of the bar he eloquently answered, “Alley.” Shaking his head he told himself to try again. “If you go around the building to the left…” pointing to the right, Shiro looked at his hand when Keith chuckled. “Other left,” he sighed, changing his pointing direction, “there is access to the alley. There used to be an outdoor seating area but its empty now so it should be a good workspace.”

“I can fix that up too,” Keith heard himself offer, embarrassed immediately by his own enthusiasm. He had no idea what it was about Shiro that made him want to prove his usefulness, but apparently it also spurred him to make offers for free labor on a space he hadn’t seen yet. There was something wrong with him, even if he couldn’t diagnose exactly what it was.

Placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder, Shiro only barely resisted the urge to adjust his fingers to feel more skin than tank top. “Hey, you’re already doing so much. Don’t feel like you have to do more.” He felt his cheeks begin to burn when Keith smiled up at him.

“Shiro, I don’t offer to do something that I don’t want to do. You’ll figure that out.” Sad to lose the feeling of Shiro’s hand on his shoulder, Keith took a step back toward the door. If he didn’t put space between them now, he had no idea what else his treacherous mouth might let him say. Nodding once, Keith spun on his heel and let himself out of the bar.

Standing alone again, Shiro tried not to think about the way his fingers were still tingling from the warmth of Keith’s body.

* * *

 

Five hours had passed since Keith had parked his truck in the dilapidated space of the bar’s back patio and begun the arduous task of ripping up and replacing the boards of the bar’s stage.

Initially Keith thought that this portion of the rehab would be fairly easy. Most of the boards had looked in fair shape, even if their varnish had faded and slipped away over time. Upon closer inspection, Keith had discovered several dangerous weak spots that would easily collapse under the combined weight of their amps and their bodies. One board removed had become two which had eventually led to five total boards dragged out into the back area and cut down to become useful in some other undetermined project.

To his dismay, Keith had also discovered the lack of supports underneath the stage floor. While the rest of the boards would not need to be replaced, they had been removed to allow him to properly secure the structure beneath it.

By the time he had assembled the new set of support beams into the base of the stage, his shirt had been discarded and his stomach had been loudly protesting its neglect for an hour. Slipping the handkerchief from his head, Keith wiped over his face before jamming it into his back pocket. A glance around the bar revealed Shiro sitting idly behind it, his cheeks blushed pinked as he fiddled with a pencil over an ancient looking ledger.

“Hey,” Keith called from his spot by the back door. “You hungry?” He smiled at Shiro’s slight nod and disappeared toward his truck. His heart hammered in his chest at the idea of eating lunch with Shiro and then it skipped a few beats at the idea of trying to have a conversation with Shiro. Other than the few awkward moments that morning, Keith had mostly kept to himself while Shiro had been doing whatever Shiro had been doing. Eating lunch together felt like a make or break event and Keith took a moment to calm his shaking hands as he reached for the cooler sitting on his passenger seat.

Inside were three containers that Hunk had eagerly shoved upon Keith after insisting Keith stop by his place on the way to the bar. Hunk had also eagerly gushed out advice about how to invite Shiro to eat with him and reinforcing that lunch was for them both. Reminding himself to either thank Hunk later or strangle him (depending on how the next thirty or so minutes went) Keith hauled his oversized cooler back into the bar.

“We could order a pizza or something.” Shiro was in the middle of his own mental crisis over shirtless Keith and had barely registered Keith’s question until he was already out of the door. “I’m not much for cooking,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and determinedly looking away from Keith’s biceps flexing as he hoisted the large cooler onto the bar’s counter. “Oh… sorry… looks like you got it covered.” Slapping the cover of his ledger closed, Shiro went to stand from his seat when a hand on his arm stopped him.

Touches from another person shouldn’t feel so electrifying, but Shiro couldn’t help feeling like his heart was being directly charged by the grip of Keith’s fingers on his forearm. Eyes lingering on where Keith’s hand held him, Shiro had to consciously suppress his whimper when he was released.

Pulling his hand back, Keith tried to interpret the look on Shiro’s face. It almost looked like regret but that would only make sense if Shiro was attracted to him. Which was _not_ a possibility considering Keith hadn’t managed to say more than a few words to him over the entire course of their morning. He had been confident via text and completely incompetent in person, ensuring his complete lack of appeal to the extremely appealing man in front of him.

Realizing he had let them stand in silence for far too long, Keith cleared his throat and threw open the top of the cooler. “Um… Hunk insisted.” Withdrawing two containers, Keith sat one in front of Shiro and one in front of himself. Hesitantly, he reached back into the basket and retrieved the chocolate on chocolate cake, complete with little hearts made of strawberries. Killing Hunk had never been a prominent desire in Keith’s mind until he had spotted those little hearts.

“Cake!” Shiro intelligently exclaimed, unclipping the lid and lifting it swiftly off. “My favorite.” He smiled down at the chocolate explosion Hunk had gifted them with and immediately felt himself blush at the shape of the strawberry decorations.

Part of his brain wondered if Hunk was intentional with his choices and what those intentions said about his impressions of Shiro and Keith, but Shio quickly scolded that meddling piece of his mind into silence. In an attempt to detract from unintentional growth of awkwardness, Shiro leaned under the bar and produced two forks. Handing one off to Keith, he opened the lid of the container in front of him and died of happiness as the aroma of home-cooked pasta wafted over him.

“Thanks for this,” Shiro smiled, taking a chance on walking around the bar and taking a stool next to Keith. He had contemplated crossing the bar at least a hundred times through the morning but could never come up with a logical excuse to do so. Scooting his stool closer to the bar, he adjusted a couple of inches to his left and let his knee brush against the outside of Keith’s thigh. He took it as a good sign when Keith didn’t move away and smiled happily down at his lunch. “Most of the time I forget to eat lunch… or slap some bologna on some bread and call it a day.”

The panicked desire to point at Shiro’s leg where it say pressed against his own and scream “What does this mean?!” left him awkwardly silent for a second. Humming instead of yelling, Keith popped off his own top and stabbed a bite of pasta in hunger-induced aggression. “I eat a lot of cereal.” He smiled around his noodles when Shiro laughed, loving the sound more than he really wanted to admit. “I can cook, but sometimes it’s hard to be motivated to do so when it’s just me.”

“I get that.” Shiro twirled his fork into his noodles and took an oversized bite. While chewing he studied the side of Keith’s beautiful face and decided to take a chance on being open. “I was never a master chef or anything, but cooking with this…” holding up his prosthetic, Shiro wiggled his oversized fingers, “makes it a little harder. And most of the time, I just don’t give enough of a shit to try.”

The blatant honesty made Keith snort. Stretching up from his seat, he tipped the basket at his elbow and retrieved the two sodas nestled at the bottom. His stance inadvertently spread wider and he purposely let his leg press more firmly to Shiro’s thigh to see what Shiro would do. When he didn’t move even a flinched inch, Keith felt an unexpected flutter underneath his breast bone.

Telling himself to be cool, Keith popped open both sodas and set one down in front of Shiro’s hand. Throwing out any sense of self-preservation, Keith stabbed another bite of pasta and made the offer his heart was dying to hear said out loud. “If you ever get bored of bologna, you could always come out my way. Maybe my kitchen’ll get some use if I have someone to use it for.”

Heat flushed over Keith’s cheeks as he spoke, radiating into his hairline as he processed just how bold he sounded. It wasn’t like he was asking Shiro to come over for some nefarious reason, he just had a strange instinct to want to make Shiro happy, especially if that meant also letting Shiro into his space. Refusing to look up from his lunch, Keith speared another bite and shoved it into his mouth.

Eyes lingering on the soda Keith had casually opened for him, Shiro rolled around the invitation in his mind. The redness coating the sharp angle of Keith’s cheekbones and chasing down the back of Keith’s neck told Shiro that maybe this wasn’t the kind of offer Keith made to just anyone. That idea made Shiro’s heart feel especially tingly and he leaned slightly to his side to nudge Keith gently. “I would love that, you know… and then Hunk would be proud of both of us. You for cooking, me for eating.”

Awkwardness broken by Shiro’s teasing, Keith let himself laugh. Oddly enough, it was exactly the kind of thing that Hunk would be proud of and Keith loved the fact that Shiro knew this about his best friend. Reaching out to boldly pat Shiro’s thigh, Keith didn’t lift his gaze from his fork. “It’s a date then,” he declared, smiling harder at the responding barely muffled gasp released from his lunch partner.

“Yeah,” Shiro managed to choke out, confused as to how he had managed to get everything he wanted while being the least smooth he had ever been. Peering at the smile creeping over Keith’s face, Shiro wondered if maybe not being smooth and just being himself would be the way into Keith’s heart.

Settling into his lunch, Shiro decided he couldn’t wait to find out.

* * *

 

“Grumpy cat! This looks fucking fantastic!”

Grumbling under his breath about not being grumpy, Keith shook himself from underneath Lance’s arm. Despite the terrible and unwelcome nickname, he knew that his bandmate was being sincere.

After four days of laboring through both opened and closed hours of the bar, Keith had transformed the tiny, rundown stage into something truly remarkable. The floorboards had been replaced and stained to match the rest of the wood in the room and were now highlighted with a row of overhanging track lights which could be easily controlled by the portable light board Keith had wirelessly connected to them. On the back wall, Keith had designed an oversized graffiti interpretation of a neon lit bar sign, declaring live music as the reason for the stage’s existence. The art stood out and blended in to the bar’s décor in all of the right ways.

“And you fixed all the tables!” Matt declared from behind them, showing appreciation for what Keith considered his lesser achievement. He still had shelves to hang in the kitchen, a stove to repair (which had been bumped to the top of the list at Hunk’s request) and the refinishing of the bar and floors. He had also added replacing and repairing the bathroom fixtures along with redesigning Shiro’s outdoor space to his ever-growing to-do list.

At the rate he was adding item lines to his project journal, Keith would need to be in the bar working for the better part of the next three months.

If those three months were anything like the first four days of working in constant orbit of Shiro’s space, sharing lunch daily, and now coffee too, Keith was positive it would be the best three months of his life.

“Keith, I really can’t get over this.” Pidge stood in the middle of the stage with her hands on her hips, smiling the proudest smile Keith had ever seen from her. “I’m so glad we dragged all of the instruments over. Let’s set up a play a bit before we go out for celebratory Chinese.” Hopping off the stage, she was out of the bar like a shot, Hunk and Lance hot on her heels.

Looking at the man standing at his shoulder, Keith repressed the urge to lean closer to steal a hint of Shiro’s warmth. Although they had only known each other for less than a handful of days, Keith already wondered how he could’ve ever survived all of his years on the planet without the beauty of Shiro’s smile. Nerves rippled under his skin over the idea that Shiro was going to see him perform for the first time and Keith tried to banish them quickly away. “That ok with you?” he asked, wary that his bandmates may have overlooked the common courtesy of asking to invade on Shiro’s only day off.

“As long as I can join you for dinner,” Shiro teased, nudging Keith with his elbow and grinning when Keith nodded. “Then I guess you’re free to blow the roof off this place.” Patting Keith once on the shoulder, Shiro caught Matt’s eye and immediately dropped his hand. Whatever mischief was gleaming in the oldest Holt’s eyes was not something Shiro wanted to provide ammunition for.

Kicking his foot lightly over the ground, Keith avoided eye contact with Matt as he headed out of the bar to make sure Lance didn’t accidentally on purpose drop his guitar.

* * *

 

Four days. For four days, Shiro had been convincing himself that his small-turned-huge crush on Keith was merely a product of their proximity and having to witness Keith in all his shirtless glory for too many unfair hours. Or maybe it was Keith’s laugh. How it was a little rare in its occurrence yet fucking beautiful whenever it slipped out. Or the way Keith was so focused on his work. He had moved almost stealth-like through the bar, even when Saturday night had brought in the usually larger crowd. Somehow Keith had managed to steal uneven tables and return them securely fixed in between the needs of patrons to use them. Shiro was still unsure how he could move with such unassuming grace, but he was positive this mystery was at least partly at fault for his already pathetic levels of pining.

There was also just an undefinable _something_ between them that Shiro couldn’t describe, even if he had been subjected to one of the famous Holt inquiries. Where Shiro normally felt the need to fill empty silence in order to avoid awkwardness, working quietly in the same space as Keith had felt natural and almost relaxing. Only four days had passed and they had already fallen into a routine of coffee together in the morning while going over Keith’s plans for the day and lunch when they took time to slowly peel back each other’s layers. There wasn’t pressure or expectations which made Shiro want to give Keith all of his secrets and every moment of his time.

Still, he held himself back from jumping over any lines. Keith’s casual invitation to cook for him remained a constant buzz in the back of Shiro’s mind but he hadn’t dared to approach the subject again. Part of him had hoped that Keith would renew the offer tonight, considering the bar was closed on Sundays, and was mildly disappointed to discover the plan for a band dinner. He couldn’t complain though, since Keith had welcomed him along as well.

Shiro was proud of his restraint when it came to Keith. He wasn’t chasing down the need for anything immediately serious and set in stone and he had let himself enjoy all of the gifted time they had together. Letting his eyes wander over the gorgeous expanse of Keith’s back or the stunning definition of his abs whenever Keith was shirtless was merely a slide in his otherwise fantastic self-control. For the most part, Shiro had kept his heart in check and mind on track.

Then Keith stood on the stage, bathed in the perfectly angled lights and began to strum the strings on his guitar as if he was born to do so and Shiro knew he was doomed.

Sure, the entire band was remarkably talented. Pidge was a genius on the drums, commanding the stage in spite of her small stature and rear stage placement. Hunk’s bass skills could easily rival some of the best bassists of all time and the way he smiled while playing was certain to bring him legions of his own screeching fans. And as the lead singer Lance was a showboat, but he had the voice and charisma to back up the posturing, making him the perfect lead man for their quartet.

Yet it was Keith who held all of Shiro’s attention and the whole of Shiro’s heart in the palm of his hands.

The way his fingers moved over the neck of his guitar made Shiro feel warm and tingly in all the most embarrassing places. Glad that he was behind the bar so his natural reaction to Keith’s stunning talent was hidden, Shiro leaned his elbows on the padded part of the counter and let himself get lost in the music.

Halfway through the first song, Shiro noticed that Keith was mouthing along with Lance’s words. It absolutely wasn’t because Shiro had been staring at Keith’s mouth that he came to this realization. The song was unfamiliar to Shiro, as it was one of the band’s proclaimed originals, but he still felt drawn to the complicated guitar chords and the emotion weaved into every lyric. Watching Keith silently sing the words coming out of Lance’s mouth, Shiro wondered why there was so much more feeling dancing over Keith’s face than over Lance’s own.

A tap on his shoulder had Shiro finally tearing his focus away from Keith. “Told you they’re good.” Matt grinned over the top of his tumbler, sipping his whiskey for once instead of slamming it down his throat. “And easy on the eyes too.” Flicking a look at the stage, Matt distinctly zeroed in on Keith.

“Do you…” Shiro felt stupid for asking the question, but Matt knew Keith first and he had to know. “Do you… like him? Keith, I mean. You know… not as your sister’s friend.” Flaming heat licked over Shiro’s cheeks as he accepted his fate as the preteen-esque loser he was.

Swigging his whiskey, Matt seemed keen to let Shiro suffer in his own jealousy for a moment. “Nah, Keith is a good guy and I was probably the first to admit that outside of maybe Hunk. But you know me, I have more of a thing for robots than for people.” His eyebrow wiggle made Shiro chuckle into his own glass.

Gulping a hasty sip of water, Shiro found his interest wandering back to the stage. Surprise overtook him as he discovered Keith looking back at him and he nearly choked when Keith winked.

“He likes you though.” Absentmindedly running a thumb over the rim of his glass, Matt acted as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb over Shiro’s whole brain. “He told Hunk. Thinks you’re dreamy or some shit.”

_Keith would never say dreamy_ , Shiro thought to himself, the more romantic part of his heart kind of wishing he had. Then the rest of his brain caught up to Matt’s words and he practically shattered the glass in his tightening grip. “Wait… really?!” he hissed, praying the sound of the band practicing was enough to disguise his excited outburst. It had only been days since he had met Keith and Shiro was somehow already prepared to take a chance on a heart he previously believed to be cold and dead.

Rolling his eyes, Matt retrieved the forgotten bottle of whiskey and topped off his own glass. “Yeah, really.” Taking a large drink, Matt leaned one elbow on the bar and leveled the patented Holt dare stare on Shiro’s face. “Now, what’re you going to do about it?”

Failing to pull together any reasonable or coherent response, Shiro gulped down the rest of his water and returned to watching the band.

From his place on the stage, Keith narrowed his eyes when Matt smirked in his direction.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our antagonist arrives, Keith sings, and Shiro tries not to faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time there was a writer who really, really loved her own story but was terrible at knowing how to promote said story. She also had never been able to figure out what ideal times for posting updates would be for maximum exposure so she stubbornly gave up. This means that this story will get its updated chapters immediately after said writer has finished editing, be it 3AM, 5PM or nearly 10AM. 
> 
> For those of you reading this - thank you so much! Your kudos and comments mean so much to me and I appreciate all of you who are here to take this journey with me!

As it turned out, the answer to Matt’s question was absolutely nothing. Shiro the coward had done absolutely nothing about his crush on Keith, despite spending every single day for a solid week in Keith’s always welcome, always gorgeous presence.

He had seen Keith dismantle his oven and his dishwasher and reassemble both with some sort of magic skills that Shio vowed never to question. Shiro had watched as Keith took a sledge hammer through a wall, demolishing the unneeded drywall with a powerful ease that made Shiro feel weak in his knees. Then he had watched helplessly as Keith had rebuilt and redesigned a walk-in pantry without a written plan and yet executed with flawless efficiency.

Keith was some sort of ultra-hot, unfairly talented wizard and he had effectively spelled Shiro’s heart into only beating in the rhythm of Keith’s name.

And it didn’t help that Keith was also incredibly easy to talk to. Every morning Shiro greeted Keith with coffee and every afternoon Keith would haul his cooler in from the truck and casually invite Shiro to eat lunch with him. By day four the invitations were unneeded as Shiro happily dropped whatever he was doing as soon as Keith appeared with his oversized box of pure lunch joy swinging in his hand. (Tragically on day five, Shiro had actually dropped the glasses he was holding. Lunch had to wait another fifteen minutes while Keith helped him sweep up the glass shards that threatened to imbed themselves into the bar floor.)

They had developed a routine and a rhythm with each other. After only a week, Shiro was already questioning how he had ever survived without Keith around.

Until Thursday night, when Shiro admittedly wondered exactly how he was supposed to survive _with_ Keith around. As if tank tops and sweaty exposed skin weren’t enough to haunt all of Shiro’s dreams, Keith in his ripped skinny jeans and skin tight red t-shirt were certainly going to keep him awake for the next few nights. Instead of wearing his hair up, the black locks hung freely over Keith’s shoulders and neck making Shiro want to thread his fingers into them and never let go.

Fortunately, he had some self-restraint left and had merely settled for standing as close as possible to Keith without actually touching him. Glancing at him now, Shiro felt another zing of unrelenting attraction and forced himself to look away before he did anything stupid.

A week after the band had come storming into Shiro’s life with excitable plans for bar domination, Shiro stood at the door to his kitchen watching the four of them twitch away their individual nervous energies.

Hunk had dragged the band into the now sparklingly renovated room so he could be with them while he put the final touches on the offered food of the night. As this would be the first dry night, the price of tickets included the buffet Hunk would set up across the bar and two dollar sodas all night. Matt was going to play bouncer, Shiro would man the bar and once the band took the stage, Hunk’s friends Romelle and Shay would be in charge of replenishing the food.

Currently, Hunk was hunched over rows and rows of tiny cupcakes, swirling icing onto each one and glaring at anyone who offered to help him. Under his breath he was humming his bassline parts and generally bobbing his head far more than was required to apply icing to cupcakes.

Pidge had taken to braiding peeled carrot skins, a line of alarming amounts of carrot braids already taking up the only unused portion of the counter. Her drumsticks were comically sticking out of her back pocket and every few seconds, her left hand would flash backwards to check if they were still there.

Lance was unfortunately pacing, squawking every time Romelle or Shay pushed him out of the way in order to get to one thing or another. He was babbling incessantly about a girl he had invited, a near constant loop of “I hope she comes, oh god what if we’re terrible, I hope she doesn’t come, do you think she’ll come guys?” flooding from him on the crests of nervous waves.

“Who’s he talking about?” Shiro dared to ask Keith, the one band member who seemed to be handling his stress by sitting still, minus the fiddling with his guitar. Asking the question was also a good excuse to move closer to Keith’s shoulder, a place Shiro liked to occupy as often as he could find a reason to. “And why is he trying to trek a permanent path on my floor?”

Cracking his neck, Keith spun his guitar around on the toe of his boot. “Allura,” he shrugged looking over at the kitchen clock to see how close his imminent death by embarrassment was. Playing in Pidge’s garage was one thing, but playing in the bar was a whole new level of terrifying. “She was a senior last year like me and Hunk. Lance has a huge crush on her but she’s quasi-dating this other pretty boy.”

Spinning around, Lance jabbed a finger in Keith’s direction. “First, if you are implying that I’m also a pretty boy, than thank you.” Rolling his eyes when Keith remained blandly silent, Lance resumed his pacing. “It’s not just a crush. Allura is _everything_. Beautiful, talented, and _kind_ on top of everything else. That’s probably why she’s still with Lotor, doesn’t want to break his heart or something.”

“Or something,” Keith echoed, not even flinching when Lance kicked out at his feet. Lotor and Allura’s crowd was never a group Keith had been interested in dealing with, so he had avoided them like the black plague for his short time sharing the halls of their high school. They had all been seniors, but Keith had been determined to keep his circle no further than Hunk, Pidge, and Lance.

“They tried to collect Keith.” Pidge made the comment as she stacked her carrot braids into neat piles and presented them to Shay as if they were supposed to provide some use. She only looked in Keith’s direction when he scoffed. “He fits their aesthetic. But they mistook his hatred for people as a match for their better-than-everyone attitude.”

“I don’t hate…” Keith trailed off, running his fingers over his strings and contemplating his next words. “I don’t hate _all_ people. For insistence, you, I like you when you aren’t fabricating lies about people collecting me.” Childish tongues stuck out at each other from between smiles on both his and Pidge’s faces.

“And you like Shiro!” Hunk sang from his new place by the oven. The room was rapidly filling with the mouthwatering aroma of Hunk’s famous three layer queso and Keith was almost distracted enough not to protest.

Trying not to preen too much over the information, Shiro wrapped an arm around Keith’s shoulders and grinned. “And I like Keith!” he declared, looking up a second later to see knowing glances firing between everyone else in the room. Fire spread over Shiro’s cheeks as he glanced at Keith and noticed his cheeks experiencing the same phenomena.

“Let’s… uhh… go over the plan once more…” Shiro suggested, awkwardly leaving his arm draped around Keith because he was too torn between trying to ease it away gracefully and selfishly clinging to the contact a little while longer. In the last week, Shiro had definitely discovered that touching Keith was a quick way to give himself a spark of happiness and therefore hadn’t held back whenever he could do so without being too obvious.

A chorus of groans echoed through the kitchen at Shiro’s suggestion. Although they had been hatching out the same plan over and over throughout the last week, Shiro still wasn’t one hundred percent positive that it was going to go as smoothly as everyone else was convinced it would.

“So Matt’s going to take tickets at the door,” flicking out his fingers as if counting, Shiro ignored the way everyone but Keith seemed to glaze over his need to go through the list again. “I’ll be at the bar. Soda, water and-”

“Mocktails,” Lance added, spinning once again on his heel and facing Shiro.

Sighing, Shiro sagged dramatically onto Keith’s side, smile twitching when Keith’s free arm made its way around his waist. “I’m not using that word, Lance.” The feeling of Keith’s fingers squeezing at his side had Shiro looking down to meet Keith’s smirk.

“You want the kiddies to think you’re cool, don’t you?” Hands flailing, Lance advanced toward Shiro and poked him in the chest. “Just use the word, Shiro! Embrace it!”

“Yeah, old timer,” Keith teased, pulling Shiro tighter to his side simply because Shiro’s leaning weight was comforting him in a way nothing else had. “Get with the hip lingo.”

“No!” Slapping a hand over Keith’s mouth, Lance shook his head with obvious disdain. “You… you don’t say any of those words.” He reeled back in horror when Keith licked the palm of his hand. “DUDE! GROSS! I can’t believe you-”

“Hello!” A girly greeting broke through Lance’s impending tirade and caused him to convert to opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Swinging into the kitchen with her hair bouncing behind her was the alarmingly beautiful girl of Lance’s dreams.

“Hey Allura,” came a chorus of voices, none of them Lance’s as he was still shocked into silence. She smiled at them with a wave of her hand before zeroing her interest on Keith’s face.

Alarm bells rang loudly in Keith’s head as Allura moved through the kitchen to appear in front of him. While Allura was definitely the best (by far) of her little group, Keith could still feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up whenever she looked at him the way she was currently. It was as if she was reading his mind and dissecting his soul, but with the intention of finding a way to make him befriend her. The power of her narrowed eyes alone was enough to have him shrinking back into Shiro’s hold, absolutely terrified to find out what her intentions were this time.

A hand curled under his chin and lifted Keith’s face up slightly. Allura’s elegant fingers turned his head from side to side as she examined his face, her tongue clicking idly as she completed her inspection. “You look like the perfect rocker… but…”

Horrified at what Allura may suggest, Keith opened his mouth to immediately protest. He snapped it shut again when he saw Lance over her shoulder, hands clasped under his chin and desperately begging Keith to be nice. Stoically quiet, Keith waited for the gauntlet to fall.

With her hand still gripping Keith’s chin, Allura reached for her purse with her free one. “What you really need is some eyeliner. To really hammer home the bad boy guitar player image.” Holding up the black pencil of doom, Allura’s eyes turned large while her bottom lip became comically pouted.

Eyes trailing from one of the makeup industries favorite torture devices to Lance’s face and then up to Shiro’s wide eyes and pink checks, Keith felt the moment that he signed away his dignity etch itself deep into his soul. Agreeing to Allura’s suggestion with just a defeated wave of his hand, Keith squawked when she seized him by the wrist and dragged him away.

“Save me!” he mouthed at Shiro, who only laughed in response and dropped down into the seat where Keith had been.

Internally, Shiro was combusting over the idea of already gorgeous Keith being painted by the commandingly pretty girl who was pulling him out of the kitchen.

* * *

 

At some point Shiro was going to admit to the Holt siblings that the dry night was a good idea. While it had been a remarkable hassle to explain his plan to the town’s tiny Liquor Board, it had at least given Shiro a chance to catch up with his grandfather’s old friends. None of them were completely supportive of the idea, but they were also willing to hear Shiro out about his need to give the town’s youth some place to belong. Driving in his points about the newest business residents not quite understanding the lifestyles of their legacy families and sprinkling in the guilt of unentertained youth of deployed parents, Shiro was able to win them over on the idea. On a trial basis at least.

Standing behind the bar with the keys to the liquor shelves secured safely in his pocket and his taps turned off for the night, Shiro couldn’t help feeling a sense of peace. The bar was crawling with teenagers who were happily munching on plates stacked with food and gratefully chugging cups of fountain sodas and Lance’s ridiculous mocktails. As a crowd they were fairly calm and well-behaved which encouraged Shiro to let the tension leak out of his shoulders as he continued to fill cups and pass them over the bar.

Slight commotion rose when a group of impeccably dressed humans waltzed into the bar as if they were the owners themselves. Curious, Shiro watched as they stood intimidatingly behind the rows of seated tables, all of them looking like they were judging every inch of the room around them. Allura joined them after a few seconds, allowing the singular male of the group to loop his arm around her in a move that looked more possessive than affectionate.

A sense of foreboding hardened Shiro’s stomach as he watched his other underage customers look warily back at the group without ever approaching them. Wondering if he should go ask Keith about this particular group of strangers, Shiro turned toward the kitchen only to run straight into Romelle.

“Sorry!” she squeaked, clutching her stack of plates to her chest and bouncing on her toes. “Hunk wants all the plates and stuff out here and the food so that we can get the kitchen clean and not leave a mess for you!”

Blinking a couple of times, Shiro gave himself a second to process all of Romelle’s fast-spoken words. “No worries, plates can go here,” he offered, snagging them and placing them onto the bar. Romelle started speaking again, the words a blur to Shiro’s tired mind.

Unlike Hunk’s friend Shay, who was oddly calming to be around, Romelle was the definition of the high school cheer captain. From the second Shiro met her, he knew he would always be a few steps behind her enthusiasm. Everyone seemed to know who she was though and she was excellent in the way she eagerly greeted every peer who walked into the bar. If Shiro ever returned the place to its full potential, Romelle would be his first hire as a waitress.

“… Oh God, they’re all here…”

Clicking back into Romelle’s speeding sentences, Shiro followed her gaze to the group of trouble now taking over a table at the back of the bar. “Who are they?” he asked, flicking his gaze back in time to see her cock her head to the side.

“Those are the beautiful people… the ones who wanted to collect Keith.” Romelle used the same phrase Pidge had when talking about this same group’s interests in friending Keith and it gave Shiro a weirdly sour taste in his mouth. “Allura is ok, her and I cheered together and she even appointed me captain when she graduated.” Romelle flitted behind the bar as she talked, clearly unable to stand in one place longer than a few seconds. “I’m not like them though… I like people… I think people are fun when they’re different. Don’t you think different people are fun? I do.” Pausing only for a breath, Romelle moved behind Shiro again to head toward the kitchen. “Keith isn’t like them either. He’s quiet but he’s not mean. He’s too sweet to be mean.”

Left alone behind the bar, Shiro watched as Romelle skipped through the crowd, stopping from table to table to give hugs and compliments to everyone she passed. Her behavior was indeed a remarkable contrast to the sneers and humorless expressions found on the faces of the so-called beautiful people.

Wiping a rag over the counter, Shiro decided that he was definitely going to ask Keith about them during their morning coffee. He also decided that he was really, really glad to be out of high school.

* * *

 

Lance spotted Lotor and his goonies seconds before they were supposed to get on stage and had immediately fallen apart. Between babbling about Allura sitting on Lotor’s lap and Zethrid murdering him with her eyes, their lead singer had become nothing more than a useless pile of blubbering goo.

Squatting down to Lance’s eye level, Keith shook him by the forearm. “Hey, hey,” he shouted, trying to make his voice heard over Lance’s panic. “I get it. It sucks that they’re here. Matt should have told them no.” The idea of Matt trying to stand up to Lotor and his self-titled “generals” was hilarious enough to make Lance smile while Pidge cracked up somewhere behind Keith’s back. “Best thing we can do is go out there and fucking kill it. And there is no one better at killing a song than you.”

“Doesn’t sound like a compliment,” Lance grumbled, arms uncurling from around his stomach. Keith took the open opportunity to seize him under the armpit and haul him to his feet. “Fine, whatever, let’s do this.” Shaking his arm out of Keith’s hold, Lance stormed toward the stage.

Moving to follow, Keith stopped short when Hunk stepped in front of him. “If he balks, you gotta save him.” Hunk’s hand pressed onto the middle of Keith’s chest, holding him in place when Keith tried to shrug him off. There was no way that Keith could sing in Lance’s place, not in Pidge’s garage and definitely not here in front of bar full of people who hated him simply for existing.

Opening his mouth to protest, Keith was cut off by Hunk’s stern glare. “We’re band and a band is a team. You know the songs. Back him up and I’ll back you up. Promise.” Lifting his hand from Keith’s chest, Hunk offered his palm in the opening gesture of their handshake.

Heaving a sigh, Keith could only nod as the knot in the back of his throat prevented him from speaking. Swiping his hand over Hunk’s palm, he bumped his elbow against Hunk’s and then fist bumped him before slapping his hand in a low five. A promise, silent but binding in the way that only best friend handshakes could be.

Letting Hunk move toward the stage without him, Keith took one final breath before making his way into the spotlights.

* * *

 

“Hey guys, we’re Black Lion and we’re the first ever band to grace this stage… seeing as it was just rebuilt by our guitarist and my friend, Keith! Say hi to the people, Keith!” Lance motioned toward the audience and barely restrained his frown when Keith only nodded. “He’s a little shy folks, but I promise his fingers aren’t!”

“What the hell, Lance,” Pidge hissed from behind her guitar, disgust bleeding into every word as the girls in the audience noticeably giggled at Lance’s implications. “Keith, we’re making you wear an I love dick shirt for our next performance.”

Refusing to turn around to acknowledge Pidge’s comment, Keith stared resolutely at the floor. He was vaguely aware that Lance was still yakking away behind the mic, but his ears were tracking a different sound of malice coming from somewhere off the stage. The leer was unmistakable in its source and Keith could only pray that Lance was too busy listening to the sound of his own voice to hear Lotor’s jabs being thrown like daggers toward their lead singer.

“Let’s just play,” Keith growled under his breath, looking anywhere but into the crowd. He had no desire to know how people were looking at him and kept his eyes unfocused as he listened to Lance wrap up his longwinded intro and announce their first song.

During the second chorus disaster struck.

A pause in the vocals gave just enough leeway for one of Lotor’s insults to land squarely in Lance’s ears. Keith saw the exact second the sound of Lotor’s voice registered in Lance’s mind and he was only able to control his fingers over his strings by sheer willpower. Color drained from Lance’s face as he tried to keep singing, words fading and resurging in an awkward ebb and flow that didn’t fit the song.

By the time they had reached the end, Lance looked like he was in pain, wincing as he apologized to his bandmates. Helplessly, he looked at Keith.

“Fuck,” Keith muttered under his breath, stepping up to Lance’s side. Silent arguments passed between them but in the end, Lance relented with a nod. Their next song was an original and Keith would take the mic while Lance sung back up. It wasn’t what either of them wanted, but they both understood that it was what the band needed.

Closing his eyes, Keith listened to Pidge’s drum counts and began to sing.

* * *

 

Another glass met its demise at the hands of Shiro’s inability to stop panicking over Keith’s everything. The eyeliner Allura had applied to Keith’s already breathtaking eyes had nearly sent Shiro into cardiac arrest, as was seeing Keith standing with a confident scowl on the lit stage. Based on Keith’s lists of worries about performing tonight, Shiro hadn’t expected the amount of girls and boys alike to practically swoon out of their seats when Keith nodded to the audience. _So much for a school who hated him_ , Shiro had thought bitterly, that thought now long forgotten as Keith began to sing into the mic.

_Who in fucking creation just allowed Keith to exist? And was his entire existence occurring solely to cause Shiro enough horny panic to die from lust overload?_ Ignoring the glass sprinkled over the floor, Shiro shifted further down the bar as if somehow he could move himself closer to Keith’s amazingness. In contrast to Lance who took over the stage when he sung, Keith only swayed slightly from side to side, his hands still moving over his guitar like perfectly crafted lightning. His eyes were tightly closed as he sang every note, calling Shiro’s heart to him like a siren calling a sailor to his death.

Shiro would happily die by Keith’s hands, especially if it meant listening to Keith as he went.

“He’s so good.”

Startling, Shiro jumped backwards when Romelle appeared at his side. Snatching the broom from its place against the wall, Shiro tried to act unaffected. “Yeah, great voice, hope Lance is good. You know, like able to sing. Keith’s good though. Real good.” He closed his eyes to avoid seeing Romelle’s knowing smile turn in his direction.

“Make sure you tell him you think so,” Romelle chirped. “Or I’ll tell him exactly what you just said.” Throwing an innocent grin over her shoulder, Romelle skipped around the bar and out to a table with an open chair.

Alone, Shiro looked back to the stage and felt his heart stop when his eyes met Keith’s intense gaze. He had caught the eyes of singers before, mostly because he always stood out in the crowd with his oversized shoulders and ridiculous height. The feeling was different this time though. Shivers ran down Shiro’s back as Keith never looked away, the words of his song dancing into Shiro’s mind and carving a permanent place in his memory. Unashamedly, Shiro continued to watch Keith, letting his own smile show as Keith finally let one of his own free.

* * *

 

Apparently all it took was Keith singing one song to shut Lotor and his goon squad up for good. After his last line of lyrics, Keith stepped back from the mic and nodded at Lance to take his place. Spinning over his shoulder, Keith shouted at Pidge to keep rolling into the next song and they all did so without missing a beat. As a band they were normally fairly in sync with each other, but the feeling was completely different when they were protecting one of their own. Each decision occurred through shared looks and barely there nods of heads, rolling their set along and bolstering Lance’s confidence with every passing song.

By the last song of their set, Lance was shirtless, sweating and exuberantly happy in a way that seemed to be contagious. The crowd had long ago left their seats to gather around the stage and Keith had purposely stepped back to allow Lance and Hunk to gather all of the attention for themselves.

There was only one person Keith wanted to have looking at him and Shiro’s eyes hadn’t left him all night.

Never had Keith been one of those people who wanted attention, especially not when he was playing. Lance and Hunk, and even Pidge, loved the idea of big audiences chanting their names and hoping for a chance that one of them would look their way. Keith just wanted to play music, and not for any reason other than loving the way his guitar sounded under his direction.

But all of that changed when Shiro’s eyes met his own over the heads of the seated crowd. Keith felt like Shiro was really listening to him, like he could hear the words Keith was singing and understood what Keith was feeling when he wrote them. Not that Shiro had any idea that the words were Keith’s own, but Keith felt like Shiro could understand anyway. For the first time, he found himself dying to know what someone thought of their music, and that someone was Shiro.

Hunk’s closing sentiments to the screaming people circling the stage were a blur to Keith and he didn’t comprehend a single one of them. All he could think about was getting off the stage and getting to Shiro. His heart had to know what Shiro thought, he needed to know if Shiro liked their music, and he needed to know now.

Placing his guitar in its stand, Keith hopped off the side of the stage while Pidge, Lance and Hunk let themselves be drawn forward off the front. Weaving his way around the back of the room, Keith ignored anyone who called his name and shook off any hand that tried to grab at him. His mission was single-minded and he snarled when his progress was stopped by a puffed out chest of a man he had no desire to speak to.

Arms crossed over his chest, Lotor stared at Keith over the bridge of his upturned nose. “Keith, didn’t know you were so talented. You know… my father-”

Glaring holes in Lotor’s forehead, Keith crossed his own arms. “I know who your father is. And it doesn’t matter to me.” Eyes flicking sideways, Keith felt bad for the way Allura was anxiously standing beside them.

“It should.” Lotor lifted a hand to make a show of examining his fingernails. “You’re the only talent in this little band of yours. My father could make you a star. Then you wouldn’t have to live out the rest of your life in this boring town of nobodies.” Lotor’s voice carried over the bar and had others shrinking away from where they were standing.

“The whole band is talented. Without them, I’m nothing,” Keith spat back, his fingers curling over his own elbows and squeezing hard enough to hurt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Moving to pass Lotor, Keith froze when Lotor wrapped a hand around his bicep. “I suggest letting go,” he growled, eyes trained on the bar and not on Lotor’s offending grasp, “unless you want me to gut you like a fish in front of all your loyal losers.” Keith met the death glares of Lotor’s groupies with bland interest.

Flicking Keith out of his grasp, Lotor snapped his fingers. “Generals out!” he called, throwing his arm around Allura’s shoulders and dragging her out with them. Keith didn’t have to look for Lance to know his friend was crushed by the action.

Feeling deflated from his post performance high, Keith turned away from his original path and slunk out the back door to find solace in the flatbed of his truck.

* * *

 

Hunk was the first to find him, hitching himself up on the tailgate and swinging his legs off the side. Silence hung between them for a few minutes, laced with a mixture of post-performance adrenaline and unspoken worries about Lotor’s need to antagonize them. Perhaps the latter should have been a bigger concern when concocting this plan of theirs, but none of them had expected Lotor to remain in town once he had acquired his diploma. Rumors said that he was only here because his mother forced him to take a year off from performing to experience a normal high school life, but Lotor’s lingering presence made Keith wonder if there was any truth to those whispered assumptions.

“You did a good thing tonight.” Resting back on his elbows, Hunk looked toward the sky instead of in Keith’s direction. He was always good like that, giving Keith the freedom to avoid eye contact whenever the subject of discussion might get to heavy. “Proud of you for stepping up like that and then stepping back to let Lance stand his ground. Couldn’t have been easy.”

There was a loaded nature to Hunk’s statements and Keith found himself narrowing his eyes toward the stars. “I don’t want to sing, Hunk.” He replayed his moments behind the microphone and tried to tell himself that he didn’t love the way it felt to finally express his words in his own voice. But singing was Lance’s job, not his and he would never step on his friend’s toes that way. “Lance is our singer and he’s good at it. He loves it too.”

“And you don’t?” The question hung in the air, balanced precariously on the trust of their friendship which meant Hunk knew the answer even if Keith wouldn’t say it. Sure, there was a part of him that maybe liked taking the chance on his own voice, but the attention of an audience was never going to be appealing to him.

Going without an answer, Hunk jumped down from the truck and patted Keith’s knee. “Kitchen’s clean and Pidge made Matt scrub the bathrooms. I packed away the food but I’m sure Shiro could use a hand cleaning up the rest. Maybe you could ask him what he thought of your singing. I think you’ll like the answer.” With one more pat to Keith’s bent knee, Hunk disappeared without waiting for Keith’s response.

Huffing out a breath that had been burning in his chest, Keith waited only a few minutes before sliding out of the truck bed and slinking back into the bar.

* * *

 

Humming as he collected trash, Shiro let the memories of the night replay in his mind. Most of them were of Keith, powerful and stoic in his place on the stage as he unknowingly charmed every member of the audience with his talented playing.

Shiro had heard multiple groups of people talking in not so subtle terms about how hot he was and had even caught a group speculating about his own relationship with Keith. It seemed the bad boy reputation also came with the assumption that Keith would be too cool to date anyone of high school age, leaving more than one group of girls looking full of sorrow and regret. Shiro wanted nothing more than to confirm all of their worst nightmares and declare that he was in fact dating Keith and that he was the only one allowed to wax poetic about the enticing way Keith’s fingers moved over his guitar.

Except he wasn’t dating Keith and that fact made Shiro pout as he moved between tables to collect discarded plates and cups into his trashcan.

“Need help?” Standing only a table away, Keith smiled softly as he plucked a pile of napkins off the table and stuffed them into a cup. He couldn’t ignore the flash of happiness he saw dance over Shiro’s face as he moved closer to deposit his trash.

Letting the trashcan rest on the floor, Shiro grabbed his forgotten rag so that his hands wouldn’t betray him and find a way onto Keith’s body. “Help is good, if you’re up for it.” Even with smudged eyeliner and the distinct sheen of sweat tracing Keith’s hairline, Shiro couldn’t trust himself not to want to reach out and pull Keith into his arms.

Silently, Keith continued to gather trash before going in search of the broom to sweep the floor. They worked in tandem effort to clean the rest of the space, no words passing between them but occasional smiles breaking over their faces when they caught each other’s eyes.

At the last table, they reached for the same chair to lift it onto the table and Keith froze when his fingers closed over Shiro’s. Heart racing, Keith tightened his grip before lifting his eyes.

Under the dim light, Shiro looked tired but happy in a way that he hadn’t on the first day Keith had met him. His cheeks were the permanent shade of pink that seemed to exist whenever Keith was around and his hand felt warm and strong beneath Keith’s grip. Swallowing hard, Keith wondered what he should do, when his mouth and brain conspired against him to come up with a solution.

“Wanna lock up and come back to my place?” he blurted, his hands twitching at his surprise over his own invitation. “We could steal some of Hunk’s leftovers from the fridge and make a picnic out of it.” As if on cue, his stomach growled to support his need for food.

Releasing the chair from the grasp of one hand, Shiro curled his fingers around Keith’s hand and squeezed. “I’d love that.” Dropping the chair into place on the table with a clatter, Shiro linked their fingers together before dragging both Keith and the trashcan through the bar to raid the fridge.

It wasn’t a homemade dinner or even a proper date, but somehow Shiro knew that this moment could be important. Trying hard to reign in his excitement, Shiro laughed as Keith plodded behind them, both of them too tired and too nervous to say much else.

* * *

 

Driving up to the looming house in the desert, Keith tried to imagine what Shiro was seeing. When he and his mom had returned to this town, taking over the property that had been deeded to him as his father’s last will, they had discovered a dilapidated house and shed desperately in need of some love. It had been his father’s childhood home and while Keith could only vaguely remember it from his own childhood memories, he loved the idea of being where his father had once been a little boy.

The house wasn’t much to look at though with its plain siding and sloping roof. The porch had a swing that his mom had begged him to restore and the door was painted an obnoxious purple which his mother loved with her whole heart. The entire house was a unique blend of his mother’s color choices and memories of his father’s childhood, leaving it both nostalgic and new at the same time. For an outsider though, Keith wondered if Shiro would think it was simply a disaster.

Hoping for the best, Keith parked the car on the dirt by the steps and jumped out of his truck. Running around the front, Keith opened Shiro’s door for him, eyes going wide when he realized what he had done. Blushing straight through to his hairline, Keith tried to abandon his chivalric move by leaning into the truck bed to retrieve his guitar. The heat on his face only increased when Shiro’s fingers found his and wound them together.

“It’s quiet out here,” Shiro remarked, finding it hard to believe that anywhere could be quieter than their sleepy little town after midnight. Stores still closed at reasonable hours and nothing but the newest businesses were open on Sundays, keeping their town traditional in ways that most places weren’t. After ten o’clock on any weeknight it was usually deathly quiet, but out here under the stars the quiet was filled with a greater sense of peace. Inhaling deeply, Shiro let his chest expand and deflate as he took in the glory of isolation.

Their drive had been mostly quiet as well, save for Keith singing softly along with the radio. Shiro swore he could listen to Keith sing every minute for the rest of his life and never get bored with the sound. It was the raspy, honest timber of Keith’s tone that made Shiro feel ready to drop to his knees and worship the god who was Keith. Knowing Keith would probably not appreciate such lavish appraisal was the only thing keeping Shiro upright.

A tug on his hand had Shiro returning from his thoughts, returning Keith’s smile as he pulled him toward the house. Clutched in Shiro’s free hand was their contraband from the bar’s fridge and he let the bag clumsily bang against his leg as they made their way through the darkened hallways of Keith’s house.

Turning a sharp left, Keith guided Shiro up the staircase and down the hallway past the bedrooms. His own was plastered with a chaotic disaster collage of his interests and he quickened his footsteps so as not to give Shiro the time to overanalyze the mishmash of posters and papers tacked to his walls.

Pausing briefly, Keith rested his guitar against the wall and reached for the dangling string to pull down the attic stairs. Carefully unfolding them, Keith felt the loss of Shiro’s hand in his own but stopped himself from reaching back to cling once again. Instead, he slipped the bag of food containers from Shiro’s grasp and led the way up the stairs.

Once inside the attic, Keith picked his way through boxes and storage containers of holiday decorations they almost never used. Back when his father was alive, he had always insisted on elaborating decorating even their most temporary of residences. Since his death neither Keith nor his mom had been able to convince themselves to do the same, although the boxes still moved with them from town to town, country to country, as if they were taking his dad along with them.

At the end of the attic, Keith unlatched the largest window and pushed it open. The slope of the roof was flatter here and Keith had discovered that there was nothing like stargazing from the roof when he needed a moment to think. Not even his mom had invaded his private roof space, but here he was inviting Shiro to share it without an ounce of hesitation. Refusing to acknowledge what that meant about the state of his own heart, Keith stepped out onto the roof and offered Shiro a hand.

Accepting Keith’s waiting grip, Shiro let himself be pulled into the light of the moon. From where they stood, Shiro could see the stars in a way that he couldn’t anywhere in town, even from the roof of his bar. Darkness surrounded them in a comforting blanket and he found himself sighing as he lowered himself to sit next to Keith.

Food was unearthed from their shared bag and consumed in silence as they both let themselves wind down from the night. There were so many things Shiro wanted to say, but selfishly, he wanted to absorb the comfort of just existing with Keith. Here they weren’t the bar owner or the hot guitarist, they were just Shiro and Keith, sharing leftovers from Shiro’s mismatched Tupperware under the private blanket of the stars above them.

It was Keith who broke the silence first, unable to hold back his need to hear Shiro’s opinions any longer. “Did you… um… did you like… our music?” _Did you like my songs_ , Keith really wanted to ask, but he couldn’t do so without revealing their source. No matter how much he loved being around Shiro, he wasn’t quite ready to share that part of himself.

“You were amazing.” Shiro heard how breathless he sounded and decided he didn’t care. Keith had been nothing short of incredible and he needed to know it. “Everyone is really talented, but when you sang…” Biting his lip, Shiro trailed off until Keith met his eyes. “When you sang… it was like the whole world stopped spinning. I… you were great.” The last part of his thought sounded lame even to Shiro’s ears, but his heart fluttered happily when Keith’s smile became radiant.

“Thanks,” he whispered, picking at the edge of a shingle with his toe. He wanted to press Shiro for his thoughts about their original songs but he couldn’t figure out a way to do so without appearing to be fishing for compliments. Instead he went with a bit of honesty. “I didn’t want to sing. Hunk made me promise to back Lance up if something happened with Lotor. Everyone there… well Hunk and Pidge and even Lance, I guess, are easy to like. Me not so much.” Setting down the empty plastic container, Keith fiddled with the fringe of the hole in his pants.

It was on the tip of Shiro’s tongue to correct all of Keith’s inaccurate perceptions of how the audience felt about him but he was cut off when Keith continued his thought.

“I’m not really… a brave person. Not like my parents. But I felt a little brave tonight.” He didn’t like how small his voice sounded or how pathetic the admission was, but he didn’t think Shiro would judge him. In the way that he could only be honest like this with Hunk, Keith felt nervous about tempting the same level of honesty with his newest friend. Peeking sideways through the draping curtain of his hair, Keith felt a rush of comfort when Shiro reached for his shoulder.

“It was brave. And you were wonderful.” Leaving his hand on Keith’s shoulder, Shiro pretended to pick at imaginary dust. “So… where are your parents?” It was a chancy question, but Shiro wanted to hear the information from Keith and not believe Matt’s half-assed explanation or the whispers that had spread through the bar earlier. Apparently Keith was somewhat of a mystery to everyone, but Shiro didn’t want him to be that way with him.

Stiffening for only a second, Keith brought his knee up to rest his elbow on it. Relief trickled through him when Shiro’s hand didn’t slip from its resting place on Keith’s shoulder. “Mom’s deployed. She’s about the most badass person I’ve ever known, despite her desire for our front door to be purple and our kitchen to have a pinkish red accent wall.” Those softer, sillier parts of his mom were Keith’s favorite parts and he wanted to share some of them with Shiro. “My dad…”

The words caught in his throat briefly, leaving Keith floundering as he got a grip on the inevitable rush of emotion. “My dad died when I was nine. There was a bomb… he rescued this civilian family…. He went back in to save their baby… tossed her out of the window to the safe arms of another solider… but his foot got caught in a broken floor plank. They didn’t find much of him.” The story still haunted Keith’s nightmares on nights when he didn’t exhaust himself enough, sometimes replacing his father’s face with his mother’s. After almost ten years from the incident, Keith still couldn’t recall the details without feeling sickness rise within him.

Shifting the bag from its place between them, Shiro scooted himself closer until he could wrap both of his arms around Keith. He rarely allowed himself to touch anyone with his prosthetic hand, but he didn’t hesitate to wrap it around the back of Keith’s neck to hold him close. Rubbing his face into the top of Keith’s hair, Shiro squeezed once before speaking. “My parents died in combat too. They were lifers with the Garrison and then one day… they just didn’t come home. I never knew what happened, even when I enlisted myself and tried to find the information. Everything about their death was classified and even my grandpa died claiming he didn’t know what had happened.”

Feeling Keith shiver against his chest, Shiro moved his colder fingers to grip over Keith’s shirt. “I lost my arm during a surprise attack on my platoon. Managed to rescue a few of the other soldiers before it was bleeding too badly to be of use. The nightmares still come though, despite that fact that I’m just a boring bar owner now.”

Sitting back, Keith fiddle with the front of Shiro’s shirt. “You’re not boring. You’re brave… like my parents… like your parents. And not just because of this.” Guiding Shiro’s hand from its hold on his back, Keith pressed a kissed to the metal of Shiro’s palm. “Owning a bar can’t be an easy thing to do. Maybe you won’t get blown up, but it still requires bravery.”

Shiro had meant to be reassuring Keith and somehow Keith had ended up reassuring him. Lost momentarily in the feeling of Keith’s lips on his palm, Shiro trailed his eyes up from their joined hands to discover Keith’s open expression staring back at him. “The bar was my grandfather’s. I don’t want to let him down. But… I don’t know how to do things his way.”

“So don’t.” Keith didn’t look away from the confusion when it flickered into Shiro’s eyes. “Maybe you can’t do things like he did, but you can succeed in your own way.”

Thinking back to all of his attempts to do anything that wasn’t Garrison or combat related, Shiro shook his head. “I think the only thing I was ever good at was being a soldier. I don’t know how to do much else. Not owning a bar… not being in a relationship…” Panicked over his last bit of overshare, Shiro dropped his eyes to his own lap, feeling surprised to discover that his legs had found their way in between Keith’s thinner ones.

Anticipation flooded Keith’s head and chest as Shiro’s fingers continued to roam over his hands. Their knees were curled together in an action that had felt so natural that Keith had barely noticed it happening. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Keith heard Hunk’s words of encouragement, the words his best friend had been chanting with mind-numbing consistency over the past week. _Just go for it_ , Hunk’s voice whispered, spurring Keith to lean down to catch Shiro’s eyes.

“Failing is easy when you’re doing the wrong thing… or… with the wrong person.” Feeling his chest constrict, Keith watched as Shiro’s lips slightly parted and Shiro’s eyes tracked winding patterns over his face. “You have to… try new things… in life… and in people… follow your own path, you know?” Not having the slightest clue if he was making sense, Keith exhaled sharply when Shiro’s hand lifted to touch his cheek.

His heartbeat thundered in his chest as Shiro felt the warmth of Keith’s cheek pressed against his palm. Keith’s words rang in his mind, telling Shiro this was his sign. Running his thumb over the sharp angle of Keith’s cheekbone, Shiro found himself wondering if Keith could be that person. “Maybe you’re right…” he whispered, leaning his head down while closing his eyes waiting to see if Keith would meet him halfway.

Without hesitation, Keith’s lips found a home against Shiro’s welcoming ones. He couldn’t promise Shiro that he knew how to be anyone’s right person, but he wanted to be Shiro’s person so badly his chest ached with the desire. Curling his hand tighter into the front of Shiro’s shirt, Keith fell into their first kiss, letting the shining stars and glowing moon be the only witnesses to the hope sealed between them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #letKeithsing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus continues the tendency to update at random hours despite the fact that I'm crazy sick and full of snot :(. Wanted to get another chapter up though because it was ready and I didn't feel like waiting for a "better" time lol.

When Shiro was little he knew every nook and cranny of their small town and every single person who lived within its limited borders. New faces would appear when new families were relocated to their branch of the Garrison, but Shiro took the time to learn each of them. His parents used to joke that he was the town’s welcoming committee while waving around a picture of tiny toddler Shiro wearing his father’s Garrison jacket and smiling at the military trucks rolling down the town’s only main road.

The year Shiro turned five, the Holts had been riding in one of those trucks with a trailer as big as Shiro’s whole house bumping along behind it. Matt had been nearly five and Pidge had reached the point in her babyhood where she could sit up on her own. Colleen and Shiro’s mother had become fast friends and Sam and his father started the Garrison’s first competitive darts tournament. For the first time, Shiro felt like he had siblings and he vowed to protect them as such for the rest of their lives.

On the infamous night that had cost Shiro his arm, he had proved his vow true when he rescued both Matt and his father from their field lab in the surprise attack that should have killed them all.

Returning to his hometown brought him the realization that he no longer knew everyone there. New faces had trickled in, followed by new businesses and an ever-changing city layout that made Shiro’s head spin if he thought about it for too long. He cherished those he remembered and tried hard to meet those he didn’t, even when his arrival back to the place where he grew up felt jarring and unnerving more than comforting.

Sitting on the bench outside of his bar, Shiro flexed his metal fingers before dropping them onto his thigh. The arm, the honorable discharge, and the severing of his relationship with the Garrison had all been worth it though. Matt and Sam had come home when he did, alive and whole despite the emotional scars that were years away from healing. They were all still working on it, but they did so together even though Shiro had moved on to different adventures while the Holts remained rooted to the Garrison life.

 _Adventures._ It was the word Keith used every time he picked up a new project inside of Shiro’s bar. As a heartbroken ex-solider, Shiro had returned to his grandfather’s business and home with nothing more than a duffel bag over his shoulder and a heart with too many gashes to be of use. Then his grandfather had died. Years of hiding his plummeting health came to end like an abruptly crashing plane and Shiro was alone again, faced with another change demanding he adjust to the unfairness of life around him. 

In his grief, he had been convinced it would be easy to love the place that was his last link to his family. Instead, somewhere over the last few months before Keith’s appearance in his life, Shiro had begun to wonder if it was just another obligation. Another job and another project that wasn’t of his choosing but remained his cross to bear.

The desire to succeed was fueled only by the need to honor his grandfather’s memory more than a need for actual personal success. Shiro’s dreams had all been tied to following his parents’ footsteps and he had given up dreaming on the day that he had awakened with metal on his arm where flesh should have been.

Acceptance of his circumstances had been easier than he would have liked and accepting the bar as his new obligation in life had felt like just another step in the following of someone else’s plans. That was until the night on Keith’s roof when he had casually changed Shiro’s mind about all of his hesitations.

Since that night, Shiro had started seeing the bar as an opportunity to seize a new direction for the life that had been thrust upon him. He had taken his grandfather’s old schedules and ledgers and set them aside to be preserved as part of the bar’s history. With Keith’s help he had dragged his personal computer down to the office and Pidge had set up both accounting software and order tracking programs. He left the pictures pinned to the walls (including the famed one of him in his dad’s jacket) and the old safe with its spinning lock, but Shiro had let Keith replace the lighting and had helped reupholster the couch that was a permanent fixture in the room. Together they had picked out a new office chair for Shiro and had gifted his old one to the aging mail clerk at the only post office branch in town.

With Hunk’s help, Shiro had organized limited menus which they had experimentally premiered over the past two weeks. For the use of his kitchen, the cost of ingredients, and permission to photograph food and test recipes for his portfolio, Hunk spent evenings in the bar running Shiro’s kitchen and blowing the minds of all the regulars. Shay hand-drew menus each day and Shiro ran copies at the copy shop across the street from him, owned by a set of retired Garrison officials.

The business his grandfather had run for his whole life was slowly but surely becoming the center of Shiro’s world. What had merely felt like another number on a long list of a life of expectations had finally become a fulfillment of his own growing dreams. Shiro was no longer living in the shadow of what his grandfather had created but was instead embracing the memory of his grandfather to stand on his own two feet. All because of one man who had inspired Shiro to succeed by following his own path.

Grinning at the familiar sound of Keith’s truck rolling down the road, Shiro pulled himself away from all his contemplations and turned his focus to his knight in torn denim. At his feet were two travel mugs of steaming coffee and on the bench at his hip were two pastries Hunk had gifted him the night before. The gift had come with a wink and a suggestion of sharing causing Shiro to blush a deep red and mutter his thanks. Hunk wasn’t subtle about his support of Shiro’s relationship with Keith, but he wasn’t pushy either. Shiro easily understood why Hunk was Keith’s first choice in friends and didn’t hesitate to admit that he was going to miss Hunk’s presence when he set off for culinary school in the fall.

A slam of a metal door made Shiro’s eyes snap up to the figure of his favorite person. Watching Keith amble out of his driver’s seat every morning was a small part of Shiro’s daily routine, but it had quickly become one of his favorites. The way Keith moved, as if he had places to be but all the time in the world to get there, gave Shiro the sweetest flare of anticipation. Tilting his head up as Keith grew closer, Shiro couldn’t contain his smile when Keith met him for their first kiss of the morning. This kiss had also become a part of their routine, as had all of the stolen kisses they would share over the course of their day.

“Thought I would tackle the back porch today,” Keith commented, dropping onto the bench and sighing happily when Shiro handed him his mug. The silver cylinder was covered in purple hippos and Shiro loved the way Keith’s smile always went soft when he looked at their adorably chubby faces. Coffee was the one staple in his life that Keith hadn’t mastered and he was always openly grateful for Shiro’s caffeinated generosity.

Nodding toward his truck, Keith shifted closer so Shiro would have an excuse to wrap an arm over his shoulders. Not disappointed in Shiro’s automatic response, Keith took a sip of his coffee and rested his head back on Shiro’s bicep. “I brought some stone I had in the shed, I can’t wait to tell Mom I found a use for it.” The stone had been another eyebrow raiser for his mom, but he was positive it would have a use. Now it would have the best use and Keith couldn’t help feeling slightly smug about that fact.

Stowed in the back of his truck were also a stack of metal chairs Keith planned to refurbish for the outdoor space and several oversized wooden spools which would serve as durable yet funky tables. Romelle had approved of his proposed aesthetic and had even promised to help him paint once he reached that step. She was perkier than anyone Keith had ever met, but it had taken him all of a week to warm up to her positivity and welcome her into his closely guarded circle. It hadn’t hurt that Shiro also seemed to be fond of her and Keith was quickly learning that Shiro could be trusted in the judgement of people.

Minus the fact that he had somehow chosen Keith as a man worthy of being his partner. Keith still found himself terrified that someday soon Shiro would realize that Keith was nothing more than a kid playing at being an adult. When that day came, Keith was prepared to accept it and cling to the time he had with Shiro as the best memory he would ever have.

Pushing away his overly gloomy thoughts, Keith sipped his coffee and reminded himself to live in the moment. Shiro was here now, holding Keith closer than he deserved to be held and offering Keith his comfort and warmth. Being greedy for any more than this moment was unlike him and Keith said a silent vow to stop worrying about the future. What would come would come and Keith knew better than anyone that life always operated under its own devices.

Lightly running his fingers up and down on Keith’s arm, Shiro set the bag of Hunk’s pastries in Keith’s lap before retrieving his own coffee. There was a lost look in Keith’s eyes that sometimes appeared without warning. Every time sadness and distance overtook his favorite set of violet blue eyes, Shiro wanted to tug Keith even closer and promise him that happiness wasn’t going anywhere. They deserved this, they deserved to find each other, and Shiro was determined for Keith to see that.

Sipping the sweet flavor of his overly sugared coffee, Shiro let his head rest backwards on the glass window of his bar. “Tell me your plan,” he encouraged, swigging his coffee again and squeezing Keith a little tighter. He saw the moment Keith’s mind cleared and twisted to press a firm kiss to the side of Keith’s head. Nuzzling a little closer, Shiro grinned when Keith’s smile finally returned. “Come on, Keith, tell me all the ways you’re going to wow me today.”

Settling back to drink his coffee, Shiro sighed contentedly when Keith began to discuss his ideas, happily getting lost in the sound of Keith’s excited descriptions for his outdoor space.

* * *

 

Pulling weeds was far more difficult on his body than Keith had given it credit for being. Gardening had never been his thing, although his mom had made sure that he knew all of the basic requirements of maintaining a proper yard. Their home in the desert didn’t require such skills, but Keith had lived in plenty of temporary homes which had felt more complete once the yards hadn’t looked so pathetically abandoned.

Shiro’s back patio space had a very similar vibe to the small house Keith and his mom had lived in before finally finding themselves as residents of their current town. The area wasn’t small, but its overall appeal was vastly affected by the overgrowth and neglect that had left it inhabitable for rabbits and mice and not so much for people. His first mission was to clear all of the chaos and then he could finally start making the patio a space that Shiro could be proud of.

Unfortunately that meant hours of tackling aggressive weeds and stalks of painfully prickly plants that had no business growing between the laid stones. Gaps had been widened and dangerously divided the previously even patio, creating both a walking hazard and an unusable floor. Crawling over the tilted and broken stones, Keith continued to angrily yank at the invasive plant intruders, cursing under his breath with every clump of dirt thrown over his shoulder.

By the time he had finally completed his task, the sun had reached its highest point and the muscles of Keith’s shoulders were screaming for a timeout. Of all the work he had knocked out around Shiro’s place over the last few weeks, this had been by far his least favorite task. Give him a stubborn light fixture or clogged toilet any day over the monotonous task of fighting unwieldly wild vines of evil.

Standing to stretch, Keith grimaced at the tightness in his back and knew that the next morning would not be kind to him. Contemplating whether Shiro would be willing to rub his shoulders, Keith wiped the dirt off of his hands and leaned into his truck to toss his sweat-soaked shirt inside. His cooler was no longer needed as Hunk now left their shared lunches in the fridge of the bar’s kitchen every night before he left for home. His best friend was the most thoughtful human on the planet and someday Keith would have to find a way to repay him.

Slinking through the back door, Keith closed his eyes and sighed at the relief offered by the air conditioning. Summer had officially set in and his lunch break had been specifically taken to avoid the couple of hours of direct sun exposure. Keith was hardworking and hardheaded but he was not about to fry himself when he could spend the time in the cool air of the bar with his favorite person in the world.

“Shiro!” he called, kicking his boots off at the door when he noticed exactly how much dirt was caked on them. His jeans weren’t much better, but he wasn’t sure if going pantsless was an acceptable move this early in their relationship. He was already shirtless and now sock-footed so he opted to plod through the bar and hope that not too much dirt would fall from his legs.

“Shiro!” he yelled again, rounding the corner toward the kitchen and stopping short at the darkened room filled with candle light. “What on…”

Fiddling with the edge of the blanket beneath him, Shiro smiled shyly up at Keith. It was probably the cheesiest idea he had ever thought of, but they hadn’t had time for any proper dates and Shiro had acted on impulse.

The tattered blanket had been his mother’s when she was little and the picnic basket was a relic from his own childhood. The candles were gifts from Romelle who was convinced that every room should always smell like cookies and the food spread had been Hunk’s contribution. Proud of himself, despite feeling a bit silly, Shiro patted the empty seat next to him.

Hesitating, Keith glanced down at his dirt covered jeans. “I’m kind of… a mess…” Shiro looked so beautiful bathed in the light of the flickering candles while Keith knew he looked like some sort of half-dressed gremlin that had emerged from Middle Earth. Awkwardly, he patted at his legs, wincing when dirt spread like confetti over the floor.

“I don’t care about dirt.” Moving to his knees, Shiro snagged Keith’s hand and pulled him forward. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. Sort of… date like…” blushing, Shiro tugged a little harder on Keith’s hand until he was close enough for Shiro to rest his chin on Keith’s stomach. “Why don’t you wash your hands and come down here and join me?” Taking advantage of the exposure of Keith’s stomach, Shiro boldly snuck little kisses over Keith’s perfect abdomen. The taste of sweat and something uniquely Keith filled Shiro’s senses and he had to force himself to let go so as not to derail all his plans.

Tucking his hands away from Shiro’s clean clothes, Keith bent forward to place a kiss on Shiro’s head. His mind was racing with emotions, all colliding together and jamming up his ability to speak. With one more kiss, Keith stepped away and found himself stumbling toward the sink.

Dirt swirled down the drain as Keith quickly extended his scrubbing up his arms and slightly over his chest and stomach. It was impossible to do more than that without drawing Shiro’s attention to his actions so Keith settled on mildly cleaning himself and hoping for the best. Using paper towels, he blotted the water away and quickly tossed them in the trashcan before returning to drop down to Shiro’s side.

Hunk had outdone himself with generous rolls of sushi and deep containers of fried rice. Hungrily his stomach growled at him to get on with it spurring Keith to reach into the closest container to steal a roll of rice and fish. Popping it into his mouth, he hummed happily as he chewed and settled more comfortably on the blanket.

There was a thought in the back of Shiro’s mind, one that had been crawling around quietly but increasing in its demand for attention over the last few days. Consuming his own sushi roll, Shiro contemplated the relaxed smile on Keith’s face and wondered if now would be a good time to broach the subject. Or subjects, as it were.

Tonight would be the third time that the band would perform and predictably, it would be another sold out crowd. Some of his regulars had heard about the band’s performances and had asked him why they were never treated to same joy of live entertainment. Another lift of Matt’s always annoyingly arching eyebrow had turned the lightbulb on in Shiro’s mind and Matt’s constant reminders of the possibilities had kept it lit no matter how chicken Shiro was about approaching the subject with Keith.

Clearing his throat, Shiro stalled in his question by stuffing his face with more of Hunk’s expertly rolled sushi. The fish was remarkably fresh and Shiro let his taste buds enjoy the flavor while he gathered his courage. He knew if Keith agreed with the idea, the rest of the band would be easy to convince.

“I was thinking,” Shiro snuck his hand across the blanket to play with Keith’s fingers. Not lifting his eyes, Shiro continued. “So… some of the regulars were talking… I guess their kids or friends of their kids played Pidge’s recordings from the last show and they really like your music.” His nervousness was ridiculous and Shiro tried to shove it away when Keith’s fingers tangled with his own. “I thought maybe… maybe you guys could try a Saturday night show too… if it’s not too much…”

Keith wasn’t sure what he thought Shiro was going to say, but asking him about playing more wasn’t it. Puzzled at Shiro’s oddly skittish behavior, Keith leaned over the blanket and caught Shiro’s chin with his free hand. “I think the band would be honored to be asked. And if it’ll make your regulars happy… if it’ll make you happy… then the answer is yes.” The smile tugged the corners of Keith’s lips when Shiro looked up to grin brightly at him.

 _Step one completed_ , Shiro thought excitedly, leaning forward to peck a quick kiss to Keith’s lips. His second request was the one really causing Shiro’s nervous fidgeting and the real reason for their romantic quasi-picnic in the middle of the kitchen floor. “You know… the bar is open kind of late on Saturdays… and closed on Sundays…”

Tilting his head, Keith ignored the grumblings of his stomach. Shiro’s nervousness was intriguing him, even though he instinctively wanted to relieve him of it. Squeezing Shiro’s hand, Keith stayed silent and waited.

Their fingers fit so perfectly together that it both emboldened Shiro’s desires and made his mind feel even more scattered. All he had to do was ask. Keith had been his boyfriend for a couple of weeks now and they had spent every day together. There was no reason why the idea of spending a night together should send Shiro into such a nervous tailspin but spinning he was. “I just thought… since… if you play… you’ll be here… and you could… well you…”

Keith’s brain was already winding through the possibilities, trying to guess what Shiro was going to suggest. His heart wanted to hear Shiro ask him to stay the night (almost as much as the horny side of his brain wanted to hear the same request) and had been having a similar thought since the night they had spent on Keith’s roof. That night everything had been so new they had been caught up in kissing each other senseless and not much else. But Keith wanted the rest of it too, even if he had experienced his own nerves about making the suggestion.

Steeling himself against possibly rejection, Shiro puffed out his breath and went for it. “If you guys play Saturday night, you could spend the night here Sunday. I know you had said something about wanting to work on the floors of the bar and I thought we could maybe sand on Saturday morning then you guys could play and then we could work on them together on Sunday because you’ll already be here if you sleep here and-”

Cupping his hands on either side of Shiro’s face, Keith abruptly stopped his boyfriend’s word avalanche with a kiss. “Please breathe,” he laughed against Shiro’s lips, pulling back only slightly to see the red spread over Shiro’s cheeks. There was a balance to their disaster states. Keith never had enough words to express his thoughts or feelings to Shiro, while Shiro always seemed to have too many. “Of course, I’ll stay.” Smiling Keith let his arms drop over Shiro’s shoulders and bent in for another kiss.

Eventually their need for food outweighed their need to kiss and they pulled apart to finish their lunch, both of them excited and nervous over their weekend plans.

* * *

 

Sometime around five o’clock, Shiro had stopped in the middle of his preparations for the evening and realized that Keith’s truck was still in its place off the side of the back patio. Scrambling to his feet, Shiro knocked into two tables before making his way out of the back door to remind Keith of the time.

Cursing under his breath, Keith paused to consider Shiro’s offer of the use of his shower and then remembered that he had taken his guitar home the night before in order to play around with a new melody. Frustrated by his own loss of time, Keith gave Shiro an all-too-brief kiss goodbye before tossing himself behind the wheel and racing away from the bar.

His shower was hasty despite the amount of dirt he had to dig out from his scalp and fingernails. The back patio looked far less like a jungle and Keith was proud of his work, even as he cussed up a storm trying to scrub his skin clean from hours in the dirt and weeds.

Toweling off as best as he could while running from the bathroom to his room, Keith scraped a brush through his hair as he pulled open his bottom drawer with his toes. Laundry had gotten away from him and he was left with the choice of a boy band t-shirt Lance had given him as a joke and an older (more favorable) band t-shirt that Keith had regrettably cut the sleeves off of. Resigning himself to looking like Lance’s definition of a douchebag, Keith tossed his brush to the side and yanked the sleeveless shirt over his head.

Clean underwear were also running low and Keith was momentarily glad that he and Shiro hadn’t reached a level of intimacy that would allow Shiro to see the stars and moons decorating his current underwear choice. They were far better than his other remaining pair of boxers, which had been a horrible cat-themed prank gift from his mother. Making note to wash clothes when he got home later, Keith snagged his only available pair of jeans and said a pray that Lance would ignore the safety pins holding together the most egregious of the rips. Their lead singer was definitely the most focused on their image and in one outfit, Keith was definitely destroying all of Lance’s carefully cultivated ideals for their band aesthetic.

Not bothering to give himself the once over, Keith snagged his guitar bag and sprinted down the stairs, slamming the front door behind him. Throwing a leg over his bike, Keith only slowed down to clip his helmet over his head before taking off like a shot back toward the bar.

* * *

 

Apologies ready to flow from his tongue, Keith threw himself off of his bike and hurried through the back door to the kitchen. Even with the rushing around and his ridiculous ensemble, his heart still beat in happy rhythms left over from his day. Shiro wanted the band to play more, he wanted Keith to spend the night with him, and had even offered Keith the use of his shower without any sign of hesitation. All of those offerings sent butterflies dancing in Keith’s stomach and he couldn’t help the happy whistle escaping between his lips. Preparing to somber himself in order to appear appropriately sorry over his lateness, Keith swung open the kitchen door and paused.  

Instead of the electricity that buzzed through the kitchen ahead of their other performances, there was an eerie stillness that made Keith’s stomach clench. Spying his bandmates huddled in a circle, right where his picnic with Shiro had taken place hours earlier, made the tension instantly rise in his shoulders. No one was moving in the kitchen and Shay, Romelle and Shiro seemed decidedly absent. Clearing his throat once, Keith waited with his hand on the doorknob feeling ready to flee out of pure instinct.

Three sets of eyes turned to look at him. Hunk’s looked worried and reminiscent of the time he had to tell Keith that someone had painted his locker with rainbow-colored crossbones. Pidge looked thoughtful, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her eyes dancing between Keith’s bewildered face and the phone in her hand.

Lance looked pissed. Eyes narrowed and jaw set, Keith instinctively took a step back to prepare for whatever was going to be thrown at him. “Did you know about this?” The growl in Lance’s voice made Keith falter.

“What?” he said stupidly, having absolutely no clue what was going on. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he tried, faltering again with the looks of confusion now being thrown at him from behind Lance’s back. “I got distracted working on the back there…” His words trailed off as Lance continued to glare at him.

“It would seem,” Pidge started, stepping around Lance and shaking his hand off her arm when Lance tried to reach for her. “That you have some rabid fans.” Holding out her phone for Keith’s inspection she looked at him expectantly.

Frowning Keith tried to figure out what he was looking at. “Is that us?” he asked, using his pointer finger to shift the screen. Sure enough, there was a photo of them on stage mid-performance. “Who took this?”

“Romelle did,” Hunk chimed in, moving away from Lance to nervously rearrange something that looked like sausage cups. “She’s been uploading videos and pictures to our Instagram.”

“We have an Instagram?” Throwing his hands up at Lance’s offended squawk, Keith shook his head. “It’s not like I’m on there! I didn’t know! Is that why you’re mad at me?” Affronted at Lance’s possible source of anger, Keith crossed his arms over his chest. “You know I don’t like social media. Don’t get pissed at me for not participating or something.”

“That’s not-” Pidge started, but Lance cut her off.

“That’s not even close to why I’m mad, you idiot.” Advancing across the kitchen, Lance was only stopped from stepping into Keith’s space by Pidge’s hand pressed firmly in the middle of his chest. “Some people having taken to adding the hashtag _Let Keith Sing_ underneath all of our posts.” Trying to move around Pidge, Lance settled for reaching his gangly arm over her shoulder to shove at Keith. “And you’re going to tell me you don’t know anything about that?”

“I didn’t even know we had an Instagram!” Shouting was not Keith’s best idea, but the absurdity of what Lance was attempting to accuse him of made him see red. He shouted, “I don’t even want to sing!” at the same time that Lance shouted, “If you want to sing, just do it!”

Both of them stared at each other, before Keith spun on his heel to look away from his so-called friend. “Whatever. Believe what you want. If that’s how little faith you have in me, then I don’t know what I’m doing here.” He heard Hunk say his name in a hushed whisper but Keith was too busy clamping his jaw around his tears to address it. “I’m going out back. If you suddenly realize how wrong you are, you’ll find me there. Otherwise, just tell me if you want me on stage or not.” Flinging open the door, Keith fled outside before anyone could stop him.

Discovering the falling darkness of the unlit patio was a welcome escape. Keith eased his guitar from off of his shoulder and closed his eyes against the welling tears that wanted to spill. A noise to his left had him reeling, hunches going up and ready for round two if that’s what Lance wanted.

His heart hardened when he discovered three equally unwanted figures standing in the shadow of the patio’s overhang.

Ezor kicked off of the wall, leaving a boot print where Keith had meticulously power-washed that afternoon. Flanked on either of her sides were Zethrid and Acxa, all of them characteristically coordinated in their choices of blue and purple. They looked like a singing girl group, if singing girl groups came with bad attitudes and a persistent need for violence.

“Do you like our hashtag?” Ezor purred, snapping her fingers and grinning wickedly when the other two unrolled signs to reveal the same saying that had set Lance’s blood on fire. “We thought we should show you our support, since it seems your band is happy to have you play back up to that scrawny dweeb.”

“Lance is an excellent singer. He has more talent in his pinky finger than Lotor has had in his entire career.” Setting his guitar against his bike, Keith folded his arms over his chest and stared down his instigators. “Perhaps you should leave, if you don’t want to hear Lance sing. Because he will sing, now and forever, as the front man for Black Lion.”

Taking a step to close the distance between them, Ezor lifted a hand to tug on Keith’s hair. She laughed in a way that was both evil and amused when Keith slapped at her. “You know, Lotor’s father has given us a contract. Big money, and a tour that starts right when all your little friends will leave you behind for their own lives.”

Keith felt the sting of that hit, refusing to acknowledge the thinnest parts of his skin which were only penetrated by the threat of abandonment. Refusing to speak, he only held Ezor’s gaze and silently dared her to continue.

“Allura, the eager-to-please daughter who she is, turned down the chance to come with us so she could go to college and make her father happy.” The sinister way Zethrid and Acxa snarled made Keith realize that Allura’s decision had probably been met with a dangerous amount of opposition. “We need a front man of our own. Someone who can sing… and can also write.”

Fear washed over Keith in a cold bath as his mind processed the knowingly evil twinkle in Ezor’s eyes. Whether she knew the truth or was merely guessing, Keith felt his jaw clench to keep from lashing out. “You’ve got the wrong guy then.” Deliberately, Keith raised himself to his full height and looked down his nose. “Lance is our singer. Hunk is our songwriter. And neither of them would ever join the likes of you.”

Laughter filled the backyard as Ezor stepped away from Keith and draped her arm around Zethrid’s waist. “Keep pretending like people don’t know the truth, Keith. Eventually it’ll come out. And when it does we’ll see if your bandmates have even a scrap of your same ill-advised loyalty.” Without waiting for a response, the three turned their backs on him and slipped back into the bar.

Under his breath, Keith let a string of curse words hiss out as his bravado deflated. His ear burned where Ezor had touched him and his chest ached with the desire to scream. Fists clenched at his side, Keith whirled toward the sound of an opening door and nearly swung directly into Allura’s face.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling back his partially extended fist and shoving both of his hands into his pockets. “I wouldn’t hit you, I promise.” Guilt sank deep inside of his already upset stomach at the uneasy look on Allura’s face.

A soft hand caressed his cheek making Keith stiffen. “I know you wouldn’t,” Allura whispered, squeezing the side of his neck once before letting her hand drop. “They have a way of winding a person up. I know, I’ve been there.” The understanding sorrow in her smile met Keith as he raised his eyes to study her. Finding nothing but sincerity, Keith let his shoulders drop further. “Your loyalty to your friends is amazing. I hope they know how lucky they are.”

Her words were unknowing salt on a too-fresh wound and Keith grimaced. The image of Lance’s accusatory words and angry frown made Keith shake his head. “Your friends really know how to cause trouble.” It wasn’t Allura’s fault that she was associated with such horrible people, and Keith wanted to tell her that, even if he couldn’t form the words.

“Friends…” Allura sank back into one of the chairs Keith had left around the patio earlier. “I don’t know if they know the meaning of the word friends… When I told them I was going to go to college and not on tour with them… well it was perfectly ugly… but…”

“Being Lotor’s girlfriend helped?” Keith hesitated a moment before taking a seat himself. Her sad smile and barely there nod made his chest ache in a funny way. “He’s not great either.” Another nod from Allura had Keith leaning forward to squeeze her knee. “You know… you don’t have to stay with him. I know he’s famous and all that, but…” Gathering his thoughts, Keith hoped Lance wouldn’t think what he was about to say was another reason to hate him. “There are others… others who are much better… who would love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“Like?” Allura asked, her eyes shining with tears when she finally lifted her head.

The open hopefulness in her expression made Keith feel slightly defensive. “Like Lance.” Bluntness was his specialty and his curse. “Lance would cherish you, which sounds sort of creepy to say maybe.” Floundering in his own inability to put together his thoughts without music to go with them, Keith shrugged. “I’m just saying… the right person… they don’t make you feel obligated to them. Instead they make you feel like…  I don’t know… like the best person you can be.” Pausing, Keith let the thought circle through his mind again and bit his tongue when the start of lyrics began to tickle his brain.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Allura leaned forward to whisper, “You think Lance could be that someone for me?”

“Yeah,” Keith stood and grabbed his guitar case. “You’d be lucky to call him yours. And I know he would feel the same way about you.” Patting her once on the shoulder the way Shiro always patted Keith’s own shoulder, Keith tried to be reassuring. “Just think about it, okay?”

Seeing Allura’s grief over the way her friends had treated her and talking about Lance’s good qualities had settled the burning fury inside of Keith’s belly. Walking back toward the kitchen door, he was ready to try and talk some sense into Lance in hopes of getting them back to a good place and on the stage. He knew that deep down, Lance had to know that he had nothing to do with whatever stupidity was happening online and all he needed to do was make his friend see that. Ready to give it a chance, Keith pushed open the kitchen door for a second time that night.

* * *

 

From his place at the other back door, Shiro watched Lance eavesdropping on Keith and Allura from just under an open window. While he couldn’t reprimand Lance for doing exactly what Shiro himself had been doing, he was ready with a judgmental eyebrow raise when Lance’s eyes caught his own.

“I… uh… better….” Lance’s hair bounced as he looked from side-to-side trying to spy any sort of escape from Shiro’s stare. Failing, his shoulders slumped as Shiro watched him give up the effort. “I know Keith had nothing to do with all that stuff.”

Hearing the admission made the knot in Shiro’s stomach loosen. He had heard the tail-end of the conflict in his kitchen and had been hurriedly filled in by Hunk while Pidge was working on calming Lance down. In his search for Keith, he had nearly bumped into the trouble trio as they re-entered the bar looking ready to cause mischief where none was needed. He was prepared to follow them with the intention of kicking them out when Keith’s voice had caught his attention.

The way Keith reassured Allura and had encouraged her in Lance’s direction had done funny things to Shiro’s heart and it seemed as if it had broken the ice that Lance had coated himself with as well. “Are you going to tell him that?” The question was simple, but if Keith could nudge Allura in Lance’s direction, Shiro could surely nudge Lance in the direction of making things right with Keith.

“Yeah, I will.” Lance twisted away from his hiding place. Looking back over his shoulder, Lance eyed Shiro warily. “You aren’t going to tell him I was listening were you?”

“And let him know you heard all of those nice things he said about you? Never.” Shiro’s smirk became a genuine smile when Lance laughed.

“You two really are perfect for each other,” Lance muttered, shaking his head and walking away toward the kitchen.

Satisfied with both Lance’s assessment and his own bit of successful meddling, Shiro moved to take his place behind the bar and get their night started from hopefully a much better place.

* * *

 

Three songs into the night and Shiro’s heart stuttered to a halt when Lance steps back from the mic with a nod of his head toward Keith. From the first time Shiro had heard Keith sing all he wanted was a chance to hear it again, and it seemed like he was finally going to get his chance.

Except Keith stubbornly wouldn’t move from his place on the stage, his glower taking over his whole face as he stepped further away from Lance and his microphone.

Words were exchanged that Shiro couldn’t hear and Keith’s defiant guitar rift led the band into their next song without further room for argument. Irritated but accepting, Lance returned to his place at the mic and started to sing.

The appearance of the white signs made Shiro’s stomach sink. From above the sound of the band came a distinct set of voices shouting the words “Let Keith Sing.” Lotor stood next to his table, hands cupped around his mouth with his other lackeys jumping to his support, waving their signs and adding their voices to the fray.

Anger flooded Shiro’s vision as he slapped his drying towel onto the bar and rounded the edge without thinking. Six large strides brought him to Lotor’s back and before he could think better of it, he was lifting the irritating man off of his feet and hauling him out of the bar. Manicured nails attempted to claw at his arms but with Shiro’s angered snarl of “you’re next,” they dropped away. Silently, the rest of Lotor’s friends trailed after their flailing leader, caught up in the arms of the bar’s owner.

In the heat of the outside air, Shiro deposited Lotor on the sidewalk. “Don’t come back,” he heard himself threaten, his voice sounding different even to his own ears. He was a man possessed when it came to protecting those he loved, and with a rush of emotion, Shiro realized how high Keith was on that list.

Lotor’s protests and threats fell on deaf ears as Shiro broadened his stance and raised a hand. “My bar, my rules. Stay out.” Without looking back, Shiro strode back inside and let the door bang shut behind him.

From his spot on the stage, Keith’s eyes remained wide and his heart screamed his love for Shiro as lyrics for a new song burst into his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider checking out my other works!  
> [A Wild Bearded Shiro Appears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054420) \- Shiro participates in No Shave November. RIP Keith (college roommates AU)  
> [Unwritten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583593/chapters/36179688) a Sheith fic about Author Keith and Fanboy Shiro, filled with mutual pining and reuniting of childhood friends :) - complete  
> [A Week For Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261003/chapters/40591424) \- married Sheith celebrate the five year anniversary of their engagement, with a little surprise in the form of a very tiny new family member  
> [Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302947) \- a one-shot of married Sheith getting jealous at a party and solving it with sexy times  
> [Where We Belong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730515) \- fluffy post Season 7 Domestic Sheith escaping for a weekend away to Keith's old shack  
> [Our Space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574111) \- Domestic Sheith one-shot in which Shiro decorates their room  
> [It Only Took a Hurricane](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227133) \- a completed Lifeguard AU (best friends to lovers)  
> [Disaster You, Disaster Me, Disaster We](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513202/chapters/38678120) \- a Sheith blind date AU with a twist  
> [Come on Baby, Frost My Cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16829314) \- a Sheith set up fic at Hunk's Singles Cake Decorating class (shenanigans ensure)  
> [No Secrets Between Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13860900) \- silly crack fic about the team finding out that Sheith are dating


End file.
